


Operation: Puente Antiguo

by TheBatchild



Series: Undisclosed [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Gen, Iron Man 2 canon, Thor canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3532934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBatchild/pseuds/TheBatchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being assigned to mostly reconnaissance work for quite some time, Quinn Scott is ready for something else, anything else. What starts as a simple assignment to keep an eye on a wayward billionaire however, turns into an assignment that opens her eyes to what the world is turning into, and what Fury's Avenger Initiative could really be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_May 29th, 2011_    
_New York City, New York_

Quinn awoke with a start when her phone started ringing. She rolled over, cursing herself for forgetting to turn the volume back down before she went to sleep, and blinked rapidly a few times until her vision was clear enough to see her alarm clock: 11:56pm. She groaned and grabbed her phone, closing her eyes against the sudden flare of light as she slid her thumb across the screen, answering the call; she didn’t need to see the caller ID to know who was on the other end of the line, as there was exactly one person who would call her five hours before she was supposed to be at the office.

“I’m sure it’s important Coulson, but it had better be really important,” she said, pulling the covers over her head. “I have to be up in four hours.”

_“You have to be up now, kid. Fury’s requested us in Malibu.”_

Quinn pushed the blankets back down, her brow furrowed. “Fury wants me in the field? To help with Tony Stark? Natasha said they had that under control, and I didn’t think I was cleared for the Avengers Initiative.”

_“The situation got out of control about thirty minutes ago,”_ Coulson replied, his voice grave. _“I’ve e-mailed you the details, but basically it comes down to Mr. Stark not handling his imminent death so well, and Colonel Rhodes flying off with one of the earlier Iron Man suits—”_

“What?”

Coulson ignored her interruption, continuing like she hadn’t spoken. _“Natasha confirmed that Mr. Stark only has about seventy-two hours left to live. Fury’s on his way there now from DC, with something the techs say will give Stark a bit more time, but the Director wants you, me, and that case belonging to Howard Stark at Malibu as soon as possible.”_ Coulson sighed, heavy enough to let Quinn known he wasn’t exactly happy about the situation either, either because of the time, or because he was going to have to deal with Tony Stark again; it hadn’t exactly gone well the last time. _“And Fury requested you specifically from my team. Your work has been exemplary since Turkey, so he’s ready to trust you with more than recon, though it may be a while yet before you’re leading your own missions again.”_

“That makes sense.”

_“And he cleared you for the Avengers Initiative this afternoon, though how involved you’ll be is questionable at this point in time.”_

She was silent for a few seconds, trying to get her half-awake mind around all that information. A small, albeit sleepy, smile broke over her features.

On a mission in Turkey ten months previous, Quinn had made a rash decision that had almost led to her and two other agents getting blown up in pursuit of their goal. They’d completed the mission, but only just. Since Fury had assigned her to the mission to test her ability to run field operations, he—and Agent Coulson—had been less than impressed. He’d denied Quinn’s promotion to field officer, and stuck her with nothing except reconnaissance and data-gathering missions for whichever team requested assistance. It was usually boring work, even when she was working for her friends, and she’d been itching to get back to something more involved for a long time.

Babysitting a billionaire in the throes of a self-destructive rampage wasn’t exactly what she would have expected, but it was something different. And things were never boring when Tony Stark was involved, least of all because Tony Stark meant the Avengers Initiative, which was why Fury was so keen on keeping him alive and well. The Avengers Initiative was Fury’s pet project. All Quinn knew about it was Fury wanted to form a team of powerful people to help protect the world. Coulson hadn’t been cleared to tell her anything else.

“I’ll be on a plane as soon as possible,” she said. With a small grunt of effort, Quinn swung her legs over the side of the bed and got to her feet, adjusting the t-shirt she wore as pyjamas as she headed for the kitchen; her ankles and feet popped loudly.

_“I’ve already called ahead and told them to prepare. The jet will be gassed and ready in forty minutes.”_

“I am up and I am moving.” Quinn yawned. “But it might take me longer than that to get the case out of storage and get to the airport.”

_“I know—just get here as soon as you can.”_ Coulson was silent for a few seconds, long enough for some people to hang up, but Quinn knew there was more, and she knew what that more was. Business was done, it was time for the fatherly portion of their conversation. _“Quinn, if you’re not—”_

“I’m fine, Coulson. Tripp and I ended it because we were better friends than anything else. There are no hard feelings and we’re still friends. I’m not broken up about it. I didn’t lose anything.” Quinn passed through the kitchen and into the bathroom, where she flicked on the light and the fan. Her reflection greeted her, hair dishevelled and eyes bleary. She grimaced. “Besides, Boss, I am more than capable of compartmentalizing and focusing on my job. You trained me, remember? And I am more than ready for this.”

He gave a small chuckle. _“Of course. I’ll see you soon, then.”_

“See you.”

Quinn ended the call and popped her phone into the player on the shelf beside the shower. She turned on some music and started the shower before stripping down and hopping in, the hot water doing absolutely nothing to wake her up any faster.

It was going to be a long trip.

* * *

_May 30th, 2011  
_ _Malibu, California_

“How was your flight?”

Quinn narrowed her eyes at Coulson as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder; it was just a small duffel, but tired as she was, it felt extraordinarily heavy. She ran one hand back through her dark brown hair, pushing stray strands back into place. “It was long, and I couldn’t sleep.” She pulled her sunglasses from where they hung from her button-down shirt and slid them over her eyes. “And it is bright here. Like, really bright.”

Coulson chuckled. “There is coffee and donuts in the car, and you’ll adjust to the sun. Promise.”

She rolled her eyes, the gesture visible even around her sunglasses, and huffed; a small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “If you say so, Boss.”

Two porters came up beside them then and placed a large grey and red case on the ground, stamped across the top as “Property of Howard Stark.” Quinn signed the log accepting responsibility of the crate—the agents who worked in the records and storage departments were sticklers for paperwork and protocol and would have her head if the logs were out of order—and then took hold of one handle as Coulson took the other. The duo started through the parking lot of the private hanger towards Coulson’s black sedan, the mysterious case swinging slightly between them.

“Did you read the full report I sent?” Coulson asked as they reached the car.

They loaded the case into the backseat and Quinn tossed her bag in after it before climbing into the passenger seat and buckling herself in. “Yeah. Read it on the plane. How long has Fury been suspicious that Stark was ill?”

“For a few months, anyway. Stark started acting odd: selling his collections, donating large sums to various charities, looking into the legal aspects of signing over his company…” Coulson answered, starting the car as he spoke.

“So basically, just throwing up red flags?”

Coulson nodded as Quinn started in on the waiting cup of coffee. “Yeah. And now this party.”

Quinn sighed, and took a long drink from her coffee. “Hopefully Stark can get whatever Fury thinks he can out of this case, and it’ll help him, you know, not die.” She shifted in her seat a bit, ran her hand back through her hair again. “So what? We’re just keeping an eye on him right? Keeping him confined so he can, er, study?”

“That’s the plan. Fury assigned me because I have first-hand experience with Tony Stark and his people, and you because—“

Something in his tone brought Quinn’s hackles up, made fall back to old insecurities, as often happened when she was tired; maybe she’d imagined the change in tone, or maybe she was taking it to mean something it didn’t, but she was still fighting the urge to glare. “You said Fury picked me. Did he do it because you asked him to? Did you vouch for me again, Coulson?”

“No. As I said, your work has been exemplary since Turkey,” Coulson replied, fixing her with one of his more fatherly looks. His voice came out more forceful than it usually was. “Fury _did_ pick you. He requested you because he knows you want that promotion and that, if you were back in Turkey, you would make a different call.” Coulson gave her another look, one that was reminiscent of the glare Quinn had held back a moment before. “You’ve earned this chance on your own merits, Quinn. It’s been eight years since the Academy—stop thinking so little of yourself. You are a great agent.”

Quinn met Coulson’s next look with a straight-faced one of her own. Her cheeks were a little warm with the praise from Coulson, and the reinforced knowledge that Fury was on her side as well. She offered Coulson a small, apologetic smile, and cleared her throat. “He’s giving me another chance by letting me help babysit a billionaire?” she asked, voice cracking slightly.

The older agent raised one eyebrow—a silent acceptance of her silent apology—and coughed a laugh. “We’re monitoring a situation in New Mexico. If it should turn into anything, than you and I will be heading to the Land of Enchantment.”

“That makes a great deal more sense than just babysitting Stark.”

“Keeping an eye on Stark isn’t exactly small potatoes.”

“True, but it’s not Agent Coulson calibre, either.” She raised her eyebrows and grinned, before retrieving a donut from the box on the centre console, one with sprinkles, and taking a bite. The tension of a moment previous was still lurking, so Quinn decided to change the subject. “Did you get your hands on that Captain America trading card you were bidding on?”

Coulson pulled out of the parking lot and turned towards downtown Malibu. “I did,” he said, positively beaming. “It’s in absolutely perfect condition too—the 1943 Captain America tour card, with him standing in front of the dancers.”

“Oh, I like that one. How many more do you need to complete the collection?”

 “Just one. I haven’t found one for sale that’s in mint condition yet though.”

“Damn. I’ll keep an eye open while looking for the rest of the comic run I’m working on.”

“How many more do you need?”

“Six, I think,” Quinn replied, her brow furrowing in thought. Quinn had read most of the Captain America comics from the 40s when she was younger, but after meeting Coulson and seeing his collection of Captain America merchandise after getting accepted to SHIELD, she’d decided to start her own collection. “The last six.”

They drove for a while idly chatting about their shared hobby, the sun rising higher over the Malibu skyline and the world coming to life around them. Quinn finished her coffee and donut while observing the scenery, but almost as soon as she was finished, Coulson’s phone rang, vibrating loudly where it sat in one of the other cup-holders. Without hesitation, Quinn picked up the phone and brought it to her ear.

“Agent Coulson’s phone—Agent Scott speaking.”

_“Hey Quinn,”_ said Natasha Romanoff. She and Quinn were around the same age, and though they had come from vastly different backgrounds, and held different opinions on a great many things, they had an easy rapport with one another that went back nearly to their first meeting. _“We’ve retrieved Mr. Stark and are getting set up at the mansion. Fury wants your ETA.”_

“We just hit downtown, so tell him ten, maybe fifteen minutes?” Quinn looked at Coulson, who nodded his confirmation that her estimate was correct. “Yeah. Ten-fifteen minutes. How is Stark doing?”

_“Blindsided, and maybe feeling a little betrayed, but overall, much better than he was before we found him. The lithium oxide has mitigated his symptoms for now. Should give him time to work on whatever is in that case you’re bringing.”_

Quinn suppressed a laugh at Natasha’s amused tone. “Well I’m sure if Fury says it’ll help him, it’ll help him. He did know Howard Stark, after all. We’ll see you soon.” Natasha ended the call without saying anything, as was her habit, and Quinn hung up as well. She returned the phone to its former place and then met Coulson’s waiting gaze. “Everything’s going according to plan. They have Stark at the mansion and are just waiting on us.”

“Guess we’d better not keep them waiting then.”

They finished the drive in a comfortable silence, pulling up in front of Tony Stark’s once-opulent mansion eleven minutes after Quinn had hung up with Natasha. Coulson parked beside a big, black SUV Quinn knew belonged to Directory Fury. The aforementioned Agent Romanoff was waiting for them at the front door, dressed in a black jumpsuit with the mark of the Black Widow on her belt, her hands on her hips and her red hair shining in the sunlight. Natasha offered up a smile as Quinn and Coulson climbed out the car and retrieved the case from the backseat.

“We’re set up in the ruins of the living room,” Natasha said as they approached, the amusement still in her voice. “All forms of communications have been disabled, and a perimeter set up at the edge of the property. Your team has been authorized to do whatever it takes to keep Mr. Stark here and working on the contents of that case.”

Coulson nodded, and the trio of agents headed through the house with Natasha leading the way. The building was indeed in ruins. It smelled like burnt wood and metal and fabric, and there was a fine layer of soot on almost every surface Quinn saw. It did however look like someone, or a team of someones had started to clean. She exchanged a surprised look with Coulson. Quinn hadn’t really known what to expect after reading that Tony had gotten drunk and destroyed most of his house, but it looked almost as if a bomb had gone off; she wished she could have seen the house before it had been ravaged.

She had no more time to marvel at the destruction though, as they arrived at the living room where Director Fury and Tony Stark were seated, currently engaged in what looked like a rather intense discussion, and her attention was otherwise captured.

Quinn and Coulson set the case down at the same moment Fury got to his feet. “I’ve got a 2:00—you’ve got this, right?” he asked Stark, gesturing at the case; Quinn hated coming into the middle of conversations.

Tony looked from the case, to Coulson and Quinn, to Fury. “No, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to get. What’s this? It belonged to my father?”

Fury kept speaking as if Tony hadn’t said anything, and nodded at Natasha where she stood. “Natasha will remain a floater at Stark Industries with her cover intact.” He placed a hand on Coulson’s shoulder. “And you remember Agent Coulson, right?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, uncertainly.

“Good. And Tony, remember: I’ve got my eye on you.” Fury tilted his head so he could fix his good eye on Tony Stark before he swept from the room, his trademark black trench coat flapping in the ocean breeze.

Coulson, Quinn, and Natasha all smirked at the Director’s dramatic flair, before Natasha said, “All communications have been disabled, Mr. Stark. Good luck.” And then she too left the room, following Fury’s path back out to the front of the house.

After a stunned moment of quiet, Tony Stark approached Coulson and Quinn, his head rotating as he took in the other SHIELD agents stationed within visible range. When his head turned, Quinn could see faint lines along his neck above the collar of his shirt, and once he was standing close enough, she could see the sort of hollow-eyed look that came to those who were near death. Quinn pressed her lips together in a small frown.

“Okay,” Tony said, seeming to reach some sort of decision internally. “First thing, I’m going to need you to send one of your goon squad out for a Starbucks run or something like that. That’d be nice.”

“I’m not here for that,” Coulson said. Tony raised his eyebrows. “I, and my associate here, Agent Scott, have been authorized by Director Fury to use whatever means necessary to keep you on the premises. If you attempt to leave, or play any games with me or any of my agents, I will tase you and watch _Super Nanny_ while you drool on the floor.” Coulson matched Tony’s eyebrow raise with one of his own, and Quinn sniggered at the looks on both their faces. “Okay?”

“I think I got it, yeah. One question though: am I supposed to be afraid of Itty Bitty here?” Stark asked, turning his attention to Quinn.

Quinn gave him her sweetest smile and took a step closer, her hands on her hips. “I assure you, Mr. Stark, that I am just as capable at incapacitating you as Agent Coulson, or any other agent here.” She batted her eyes a couple of times, letting the hostile edge she was capable of seep into her expression. “Now, did you want help carrying the case somewhere more suitable?”

Tony blinked a few times, and then nodded and gave her a look of approval. “Sure.”


	2. Chapter 2

_May 30th, 2011  
Malibu, California_

“Are you going to stand there the whole time?” 

Quinn pulled her attention from the old movie poster on the wall and flashed a grin at Tony Stark, who was currently poised over the case, now sitting across a pair of stools, its lid thrown up and its contents thoroughly rifled through. An armchair had been dragged so it was nearby, and an old-school reel projector stood aimed at a screen on the wall. Tony has refused Quinn’s help in setting everything up, so she’d just walked around slowly, observing what had survived the destruction from the previous night’s debauchery. There was a lot to see, and she took her time in absorbing it all. 

She wasn’t blind to Tony’s desire for privacy where his father’s things were concerned, either. He’d had the same almost-manic bearing Quinn had had when she’d first discovered Colonel Phillips’ journals. The same protective desires to. 

She crossed the room so she was standing closer to the billionaire, her arms crossed over her chest. “I can leave if you’ll be more comfortable, and if you won’t need my help with anything.” 

“I would definitely be more comfortable, but wouldn’t leaving me on my own be a risk to your mission or whatever? I could escape the perimeter,” he added with a sarcastic wave of his fingers. 

Quinn shrugged, tapping the fingers of one hand against the opposite bicep. “I have no orders not to leave you alone, Mr. Stark. My orders are to help Agent Coulson keep an eye on you, and to make sure you figure out whatever your father left in that crate.” 

Tony looked from Quinn to the crate, a strained look taking over his face. “Fury said he left it for me.” 

His tone told Quinn he was looking for more information, for an answer to an unasked question. Quinn knew Fury wouldn’t have given much information when he told Tony about the case, and she had even less information she could give. “I’m sorry Mr. Stark, but I don’t know anything about that crate other than it belonged to your father and it’s never been opened—all I did was pull it out of storage in New York and bring it here.” She paused, a line from the file coming back to her. “Actually, it was scanned once to make sure nothing inside was dangerous, but your father left instructions that you should be the only one to open it.” 

The billionaire was quiet for some time, staring at the contents of the case: mostly notebooks and assorted pieces of paper. When he met Quinn’s eyes again, there was a haunted look about him. Staring into the past, especially a relatively unhappy one, was not easy. Quinn knew that well, and her thoughts were momentarily drawn into her own past, until Tony spoke again. 

“Fury said my father was one of the founders of SHIELD.” 

Quinn nodded. An idea struck her then, as to why Fury had requested her for this mission. She had no way of knowing if she was right, and she knew that if she asked Director Fury, he wouldn’t tell her anyway. He wasn’t exactly known for sharing his thought processes. About anything. 

“He was,” she said. “The founders of SHIELD were your father, Agent Peggy Carter, and Colonel Chester Phillips… my great-grandfather.” 

Tony leveled a cool gaze on her. “So, what, is this connection supposed to make us best friends or something?” 

“Not at all,” Quinn said. “But perhaps Director Fury put me on this mission to help answer any questions about SHIELD you might have after learning your father’s status in the organization and digging through his things. I don’t know if I’ll be any help, but I can try.” 

“I don’t think there are any questions you could answer.” 

“I understand that.” Quinn moved to stand behind the arm chair, dropping her hands to grip the old fabric. There were very few people who she’d spoken to about her relationship to Colonel Phillips, and she’d never been able to use it to help someone before. She was still protective of her knowledge of him, of her connection. “I can, however, tell you that my great-grandfather thought your father was an arrogant ass and wasted no time in telling him he thought as much.” 

Tony made a noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh. The heavy emotions left his face in that moment, and Quinn saw something of the intelligence she knew to lie beneath the drinking and partying and other assorted issues. She smiled in response. 

“That sounds like my dad,” he mused. “What else did the Colonel say about my father?” 

Over the next few minutes, Quinn relayed all she could remember of the Colonel’s recollections as Tony continued to dig through the case and set things up. She leaned against the wall, mostly to stay out of the way as he paced about, flipping through notebooks or tinkering with the projector. Tony asked a few questions as she sometimes bumbled through her memories, but just let her speak for the most part; Quinn wished she had Colonel Phillips’ journals with her to better share the information, and the thought caught her off guard. She had never before wished to share the journals with someone other than Coulson. By the time she was done speaking, Tony was seated in the armchair, one particular notebook clutched tightly in his hands. Quinn could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes as he processed all the information she’d given him and that he’d picked up from the case. 

After a rather lengthy period of silence, he gave a slight start, like he was surprised to find her standing there. “It’s… odd to hear about him from someone else’s point of view,” he said. “Someone who didn’t worship the ground he walked on.” 

Quinn didn’t know what to say and, if she was being honest, she didn’t think Tony was really speaking to her so much as thinking out loud. So she didn’t say anything. 

“Thank you for sharing that,” Tony said. She nodded, her arms once again crossed over her chest. Quinn opened her mouth to say she’d leave Tony be, but his brow furrowed and he asked, “Did your great-grandfather write about Captain America?” 

“A bit. He wrote about Project Rebirth in very little detail—how much it was costing, the bizarre things you father asked for, that sort of thing. He spared a few words to say he didn’t think Steve Rogers was the right test subject, and then a few more to say he was wrong, but that was pretty much it.” Quinn couldn’t tell if her words had registered at all, and Tony didn’t say anything else, so she shrugged and headed for the door. “I’ll leave you to it then. If you need anything else, there’ll be an agent outside the door, or you can come find Coulson or me upstairs.” 

Quinn headed into the hallway, shutting the door quietly behind her. She nodded to the SHIELD agent standing to the right of the portal, and then ascended the steps quickly. A lively breeze was pushing into the house through the gaping hole in the wall, but Quinn didn’t mind—it was warm and smelled of the ocean, and she took a few heartbeats to enjoy it before joining Coulson and a tall red-headed woman near what had been an elaborate bar. 

* * *

“What do you mean he’s gone?” 

“He broke the perimeter sir,” the agent said, pressing the cold cloth to his head. “He came out of the room, said he had to go to Stark Industries, and when I said he couldn’t leave without an escort, he smacked me on the head with something.” 

Quinn gently lifted the agent’s hand away and peered at the impact site. “It’ll hurt like a bitch for a few days probably, but there’s minimal bleeding. We’ll get someone more qualified to make sure, but I think you’ll be fine.” Quinn sighed and looked at Coulson, whose face had gone stoic. With one arm crossed over his chest and the other propped on it so he could stroke his chin, he cut the very image of a deep thinker. “If he’s actually going to Stark Industries, sir, Natasha can keep an eye on him and make sure he gets back here.” 

Coulson brought himself out of his thoughtful trance. “I just didn’t expect something so… blunt from Stark. I probably should have,” he added, more to himself than either agent in front of him. He clapped the injured agent on the shoulder and then he and Quinn left the agent to the ministrations of his partner, Coulson typing out a quick message on his phone. “Did Stark give you any indication that he was planning to leave?” 

Quinn shook her head. “He didn’t giving me the impression of anything except apprehension at digging through his father’s things. But he was in there for a couple of hours so who knows what could have changed.” She drew her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed it a little bit. “I may have tried to connect with him over our shared family connection to Project Rebirth.” 

“I don’t think that would have sent him running to Stark Industries. If we’re lucky, something in that case struck a chord and he’s on the path to solving whatever is supposed to be there for him to solve.” The duo reached the balcony and Coulson put his elbows on the railing before leaning into it, squinting against the sunlight and the sea breeze. Quinn mimicked the position beside him, thankful the railing was low enough to accommodate her stature. “That way, Fury won’t have my head.” 

“Fury wouldn’t have your head anyway, Boss. You’re too good. An institution.” 

Coulson raised an eyebrow at his young partner, one corner of his mouth lifting as well. “Only old people are institutions.” 

“Yeah, and your point?” she asked, feigning innocence. 

He elbowed her arm playfully. “I’ve notified the Director, and sent two agents to trail Stark.” 

“So what do we do now?” 

As if to answer her question, Coulson’s phone rang. He slid his finger across the screen and lifted it to his ear. Quinn watched and listened but he said nothing, just made small noises of agreement and understanding, and she couldn’t hear the voice on the other end of the line. When the call ended, he returned his cell to his pocket and turned to face her once again. 

“Natasha and the agents have eyes on him, and Fury’s content as long as we don’t lose him—so we wait. Sounds like the Director expected something like this.” 

“Stark’s never followed anyone else’s plan.” 

“No, he certainly hasn’t.”

* * *

_May 31st, 2011  
_ _Malibu California_

For the second time in recent memory, Quinn was awoken by the shrill ringing of a phone. This time it wasn’t hers, but just about any sudden, loud noise would have brought her from the light slumber she’d taken on Stark’s couch. After Tony had left and Fury had confirmed that the agents should stay at the house, Coulson and Quinn had turned to paperwork, communications, and other assorted tasks that had fallen by the wayside. They’d set up camp in a smaller living room that hadn’t been touched by the destruction, and they hadn’t left since. She groaned as Coulson answered the phone, and rubbed at her eyes as she sat up and got to her feet, a blanket she didn’t remember using falling to the floor. Quinn rolled her eyes at the gesture, before stretching out the kinks in her back. 

“Morning Sunshine.” 

She scowled across the room at her boss. Coulson was never tired, and Quinn couldn’t recall ever seeing him yawn. It was worse than if he’d been a morning person. “What time is it?”

“Five-ish.” 

“Oh my God.” 

“The good news doesn’t stop there, kid. We’ve been reassigned.” 

Had Coulson delivered the news without the grin, Quinn would have been scared to hear the nature of their new assignment; she wouldn’t have been surprised to find they were being punished for letting Stark get away. As it was, she thought the new assignment was something she was probably going to like. She kept up her skeptical expression though, urging the senior agent to continue speaking. 

“Remember that report that came in a week or so ago about the minor atmospheric disturbances in the South West?” Quinn nodded, and Coulson’s smile grew. The report hadn’t been anything exciting, but it had been delivered to Agent Coulson by Agent Hill, an agent on the fast track to becoming Fury’s second-in-command, so clearly it had raised a few flags with the higher ups. Coulson had casually passed the file to Quinn, but didn’t explain either his, or the Director’s interest. “Yesterday another report came through. Those disturbances have grown, and Fury’s decided the activity is worth having us on site to observe.” 

“So more recon?” she asked, deflated. 

“Recon with an entire team waiting in Roswell for us to pick them up.” Coulson chuckled as Quinn perked up. Teams weren’t assigned for recon missions. “Dr. Jane Foster—the woman who’s been studying similar disturbances—thinks that the disturbances might resovle into a wormhole, or that whatever is causing the disturbances might be trying to break through. She mentioned it in a message to Dr. Erik Selvig.” 

“Something alien?” 

“She’s not sure, and neither are the SHIELD scientists, but they’re basing their conclusions off of her work.” 

“Why haven’t they sent a team in yet?” 

Coulson shrugged, and then turned and headed for the nearby kitchen, where Quinn could smell fresh coffee brewing. She followed and eagerly accepted the mug her boss handed her. “They were probably waiting for something like Dr. Foster’s report yesterday, and now they’re sending us in at the head of a full team of scientists.” He took a sip from his black coffee, and then a longer pull upon finding it a satisfactory temperature. 

Quinn did the same after adding sugar and cream to her coffee, accepting that she wasn’t going to get anymore sleep; she’d sleep in the car if she could. It was a long drive to the base at Roswell. “Did Stark come home?” 

“Sometime in the early evening. He’s been holed up in his lab ever since.” His eyes widened and he gave her a small smile. “It sounded like he was tearing down a wall at one point—maybe he found something in that crate after all.” 

“Maybe.” 

The duo finished their coffee in silence and then set about gathering their things. Coulson made the rounds to check in with the other SHIELD agents on site at the house, and called Natasha to inform her of the reassignment. It probably wasn’t necessary—Natasha had a way of knowing everything, especially if you thought she wouldn’t know it—but Coulson usually followed the “better safe than sorry” route. Quinn had put herself and her things into some semblance of order by the time Coulson was ready. 

“Take the stuff out to the car. I’m going to go inform our wayward billionaire that we’re leaving,” Coulson said. 

Quinn nodded. “Tell him I said goodbye and that it was a pleasure to babysit, even if we kinda failed.” 

“Spectacularly failed.” 

Quinn chuckled when Coulson gave her a thumbs up and a cheesy grin. As her boss headed down to Tony Stark’s workshop, Quinn gathered up their bags and took them out to the sedan. A few minutes later, Coulson emerged from the house, and then they were off, heading for the desert and the SHIELD base at Roswell.

“I’ve never been to the Roswell base,” Quinn said when they were stopped at a red light. 

Coulson’s face was unreadable behind his dark sunglasses. “It’s not that exciting.” 

“What? No aliens?” 

One corner of his mouth pulled up. “Not that I’ve seen.”

“Damn it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took far too long. I'm horrible. 
> 
> Also, if you're wondering, aside from getting the plot of Thor underway, this chapter mostly served as a foundation to a sort-of friendship that'll be important later on. In a later adventure.


	3. Chapter 3

_May 31st, 2011  
Somewhere Between Roswell and Puente Antiguo, New Mexico_

“Must you put your feet on the dash?” 

Quinn rolled her head to the side to raise her eyebrows at Coulson as she wiggled her toes. “I took my shoes off. It took us hours to get to Roswell, and we were only there for like, twenty minutes to check on personnel and equipment. The drive to Puente Antiguo is going to be hours still, and then we have to manage a whole research team. I want to at least be comfortable and relaxed for a little while.” 

“Fine, but if I find dirt or footprints up there—” 

“I’ll clean it,” Quinn assured Coulson with a smile, one that the older agent returned, though he looked a little pinched about it. “Don’t worry, Boss.” She grinned when he rolled his eyes. 

The sun had sunk below the horizon, casting the nearly empty desert roads into deep purple and blue shadow. There were already hundreds of stars visible, and Quinn knew there would be more as the sky turned black. It was a beautiful sight, but Quinn’s mind was occupied with trying to stay awake, with running over the plan they’d established at the base in Roswell, and with going over the personnel assigned to her and Agent Coulson. It was a lot of information, and her and Coulson would both have access to it all at any time, but with this mission Quinn’s chance to get out from under the weight of reconnaissance duty, from Stark’s escape, she didn’t want to forget anything or make any mistakes. 

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, settling deeper into the seat. Quinn wanted to close her eyes, but instead blinked rapidly a few times and gave her head a shake. _Go over the information once more—that’ll help you stay awake._

Just before they had reached Roswell, Fury had phoned them to inform them that something had indeed come through one of the atmospheric disturbances, and their mission had gone from recon to recovery. The team at Roswell, led by Jasper Sitwell, had been prepared for such a turn, and had set out shortly after Coulson and Quinn had left in what qualified as a caravan. Aside from Sitwell, Quinn had known no one assigned to their team, but with the turn of events, it hadn’t taken long for Fury to put another team under Coulson’s control—one that included security personnel and one of Quinn’s closest friends, Clint Barton, the master archer known as Hawkeye. 

“When is Barton supposed to arrive? He was coming in from somewhere outside the country, right?” 

“He should join us tomorrow, and I believe he was coming in from Canada somewhere.” 

The notion caught at something in Quinn’s tired mind. “Looking for that doctor—uhm… Banner?” 

“I’m not sure, though with the way Fury’s been hunting Dr. Banner this week, I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s been a hell of a week.” Coulson huffed as they passed a sign for an upcoming gas station; they’d run out of coffee an hour or so ago, so they were going to stop. “How long has it been since you and Barton worked together?” 

“Over a year at least. He and Nat are usually off saving the world together—Black Widow and Hawkeye, Strike Team Delta.” Quinn wiggled her fingers for emphasis, and while her voice held sarcasm, she was genuinely smiling. “And I’ve been stuck on recon. So, this should be fun.” 

“For you maybe. I’m not sure how I’m going to survive having the two of you together again.” 

Quinn grinned at Coulson, baring her teeth. “Please. You’ve missed having the family together,” she said. “Too bad Nat can’t join us.” 

“I’m sure she’s got her hands full with Stark.” 

“Oh, but potentially alien artifacts falling out of the sky is so much more fun. Probably.” 

Coulson laughed as he turned the car into the parking lot of the gas station. The world was mostly black by then, the blue-white glow of the fluorescent lights of the gas bar and small store creating an island in the darkness. There was one other car parked beside the store, and faint music could be heard emanating from the building, but it was still a very isolated place. The SHIELD agents climbed out of the car, Quinn heading for the pumps and Coulson for the store. They had the routine down. 

“Do you want anything?” he asked. 

“Sugar and caffeine. Donuts.” Quinn opened the gas cap and unholstered the pump. “I think you’ve been a bad influence on me Boss,” she said as the gas started flowing. “I never ate this many donuts until I met you.” 

Coulson touched two fingers to his head in salute before he disappeared into the store. Quinn shook her head, smiling, and then she turned her attention to the escalating numbers on the pump. Her mind wandered back over the impending mission, and then over the last conversation she and Antoine Triplett had had when they’d decided to end their romantic relationship, and then back to the mission; she wasn’t torn up about her and Tripp, but that didn’t mean she wanted to think about it. As she was lost in thought, another car pulled up to the gas station, a red SUV. She had time to think that it was weird for another car to show up before she caught sight of the men inside. 

The passenger was holding a shot gun. 

Quinn immediately locked the gas pump in place and then dropped into crouch. She moved to the other side of the car, putting it and the bay of pumps between her and the armed newcomers. Two car doors slammed and then she heard the faint chime as they entered the store. Quinn peeked around the back of Coulson’s car. There was still one man in the SUV—the driver. Quinn took a deep breath, trying to determine the best course of action. 

Shouts from inside the store made that decision for her. 

Quinn reached behind her and slipped one of her thin throwing knives from the back of her specially-designed belt—she’d always had an affinity for the small projectiles, which had been a big part in establishing and building her and Barton’s friendship—and headed for the SUV, moving low and quick, and doing her best to stay in the blind spot. There was a curse from inside the vehicle and the man climbed out, a pistol clutched in one hand. He was tall and thin, but his arms were corded with muscle, and when he lifted the gun to aim, he moved with skill. 

“Shit,” Quinn muttered as she kept moving. 

Before he could shoot, Quinn rose up and threw her knife as she stepped to the side, the blade flying true and embedding itself in the back of the man’s hand. The shot he managed to get off went wide, striking the pavement, and then he dropped the gun, cursing loudly. Quinn launched herself at the would-be shooter and drove her knee into his solar plexus, pushing the air from his lungs and causing him to double over. 

A gunshot went off from inside the store. 

Quinn started and nearly lost control of the situation. The man, still in pain, flailed out wildly trying to make contact with Quinn, but she was too fast. She dodged the hit and slammed her elbow into the back of his shoulders, bringing him back down to her level so she could hook her arm around his neck and position herself for a chokehold. He struggled, but he didn’t know how to use his superior size to overwhelm her. When he finally passed out, Quinn lowered him to the ground and sprinted for the store, her mind already racing through the worst possibilities. 

She drew her gun as she kicked the door open, ready to fire, ready to fight. 

Instead of a fight however, she found Coulson standing in front of the cashier, his hands and two packs of donuts on the counter along with several twenty dollar bills, and two more would-be robbers unconscious on the floor. Quinn looked up at her boss, eyes wide, and then she laughed, the adrenaline leaving her body in a rush. 

“Couldn’t wait for you,” Coulson said, a smile taking over his features as well. 

The cashier looked between the agents, her face full of alarm and confusion, and Quinn had to press her lips together to keep from laughing again. She offered a smile to the young woman. “If you call the cops, my colleague and I will restrain these men and then be on our way.” Quinn slipped a business card from the inner pocket of her suit jacket and slid it across the counter. “You can get them to call me if they have any questions, but I believe everything will be on the security cameras.”

The woman picked up the card, brow furrowing slightly as she took in the SHIELD insignia. “I’ve never heard of SHIELD,” she said quietly. 

“Not many have.” 

Quinn gave her another smile before she bent to the task of securing the assailants’ wrists with zip-tie cuffs while Coulson set about gathering further supplies for the rest of their drive. He’d already covered the cost of what he chose, plus plenty of extra to cover the gas and the cost of anything that had been damaged in the assault. Quinn headed outside and tied the man she’d taken down as well. Agent Coulson joined her as she was holstering the gas pump. Once she’d closed the gas cap, she climbed into the car as well, and gratefully accepted the coffee he handed her. It was lukewarm, but it tasted okay, and the caffeine would more than make up for it. 

Quinn popped one of the powdered donuts in her mouth. “How about we don’t stop anymore unless it’s emergency—‘kay Boss?” 

Coulson looked at her as he pulled back onto the road. Her taste for levity after serious moments was not unfamiliar to him. “Running out of coffee is an emergency, Agent Scott.” 

“Yes sir. Of course sir.” 

* * *

_June 1st, 2011  
_ _Fifty Miles Outside Puente Antiguo, New Mexico_  

_“What’s your ETA?”_

Quinn turned her phone around so Barton could see the sand, dirt, and scrubby brush illuminated in the early morning light. It was all that could be seen for miles in any direction. “Soon,” she said when she could see the archer’s face again. “At least I hope. This place is supposedly in the middle of nowhere, and I’d say were just about there. Haven’t seen another car or person or anything for quite some time.” 

Barton raised an eyebrow. _“Are you going to be okay out there in the middle of the desert, Scottie?”_

“They have wi-fi in Puente Antiguo and I’m with the Boss—I’ll be just fine,” she answered, popping a donut into her mouth. “Plus, you’ll be there. We can raise all sorts of hell if we get bored.” 

“Hey now,” Coulson interjected.

Quinn and Barton chuckled. If they’d be in the same room, they probably would have bumped fists. As it was, they shared a mischievous grin and Barton touched a fist to the roof of the truck he was riding shotgun in. _“Too bad Nat can’t join us,”_ he said. _“It’s been too long since we were all in one place. We’ll have to fix that soon.”_ He smiled again when Quinn nodded, enthusiastically. _“How’s it feel to be doing something other than recon?”_

She swallowed her donut and took a sip of cold coffee with a grimace. “Good—great. But, honestly, I’m worried I’m going to make a mistake and get myself chained to a desk in some satellite SHIELD facility somewhere. Forgotten in The Fridge or something. Especially after Stark managed to escape on my watch.” 

_“You’ll be fine, Scottie. You’re good at your job, despite some bad decisions. Stark wanted out, so he found a way out. I’m not sure anyone or anything could keep him somewhere he didn’t want to be.”_ He tilted his chin down, giving her his best firm and slightly fatherly look; with a son nearing his pre-teen years and a daughter not too far behind, Barton was getting pretty good at the look. _“Just don’t make any rash decisions like last time, and listen to Coulson, and you’ll come out of this mission with your reputation and career intact.”_

“Let’s hope.” 

_“Besides, I’ll be there and I’ve got your back.”_

Quinn’s answering smile was genuine. Barton had become something like an older brother, which for Quinn, who had been separated from her four siblings when they’d entered the foster system, meant it was a very important relationship. He’d even trusted her recently with his biggest secret: his family’s existence. Only a handful of people knew about them, including Fury, Nat, and Coulson. She hadn’t met them in person yet, but she had spoken to Laura, his wife, on the phone, and she’d been keen on getting Quinn to their house for dinner at some point. 

“Thanks Clint. I’ll see you on site… whenever we find where exactly that is.” 

_“Don’t get swept into any alien shit until I get there, okay?”_

Quinn winked. “Promise.” She ended the video call and returned her phone to her pocket. “How much longer, Boss? No offense, but I’m getting sick of this car.” 

“Me too, kid. But nothing to worry about anymore, since I think we just found our spot.” 

The young woman looked in the direction Coulson was pointing. Off in the distance, Quinn could see a large group of people and vehicles. They seemed to be surrounding a large, circular area, the majority of them remaining on the edge. As they drew closer, faint music could be heard—it must have been blaring closer to the source for the agents to be able to hear it at all. Coulson brought the car to a stop on a rise overlooking the desert between them and the site, and he and Quinn climbed out, the dust swirling around their ankles and marring their suits; having spent so much time in the car and been through an assault, their clothes were already much worse for the wear. So Quinn had no qualms about climbing higher on the rise to see what else she could. She caught a whiff of cooking meat and rolled her eyes. 

“They’re having a party,” she called over her shoulder. 

Coulson joined her and passed her a small pair of binoculars, retrieved from their gear. “Can you see what they’re crowded around?” 

She was about to ask why he didn’t look himself, but when she turned to face him, she found his phone pressed to his ear. “Hi Director,” she said as she accepted the offered tool and brought it to her eyes. 

“He says hello and wants to know if you can see what they’re crowded around.” 

“One sec.” She peered through the binoculars, moving them slowly around the crowd. She saw people dancing, cooking, drinking, smoking, eating—and there, in a break in the crowd, she saw a burly man wrapping a chain around something protruding from the ground, a chain connected to the tow truck. “Something that looks like a big hammer on a pedestal. Looks like it’s stuck in the ground and it won’t budge.” 

“Right. Sir, we’ve found it.” 

Something in Coulson’s tone sent a thrill through Quinn; she watched him head back to the car, still talking to Fury. The object was whatever had come through the disturbance, was what they’d been looking for, waiting for. She brought the binoculars back to her face and continued to watch, hoping for another sign of the object. As she had when informed she’d be watching over Tony Stark, Quinn’s mind turned to the Avengers Initiative, to Fury’s desire to make of team out of powered, skilled, and enhanced people. The object looked like it was made to be wielded by someone.

Maybe whoever that someone was would be a candidate. 

Quinn wanted it. She wanted to be involved in the Initiative more than almost anything. 

She’d lost the chance with Stark. 

She wouldn’t lose her chance here. 

“Come on kid! Let’s go break up a party.” 

She hurried down from the rise. “Sounds like a good time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been without internet since May 5th, so it's nice to have it back. :P But that's why there are been no updates from me on anything.


	4. Chapter 4

_June 1st, 2011  
Fifty Miles Outside Puente Antiguo, New Mexico_

“What do you mean something else came through the disturbances? What was it? Why weren’t we notified? What the hell kind of disturbances are these?” 

The technician raised his hands from the keyboard and rolled his chair out of the way as Quinn moved in closer to the monitor. She leaned over the desk, her fingers flying across the keys. Around them, the base was still under construction, the hammer at its centre. The air was filled with the sounds of tools, metal bars, plastic sheeting, and cursing techs setting up computers and monitoring equipment. They’d only been working for about three hours, but the base was almost complete—SHIELD efficiency at work. Unfortunately for the tech, the noise and commotion seemed to be distracting him from his job.    

Quinn narrowed her eyes as she found the information she’d been looking for. “Boss!” she yelled, the tech flinching beside her. 

Coulson appeared quickly, a tablet in the crook of his arm and the telltale coil of a communicator spiraling from his ear. He was in full leader mode. “What is it?” he asked, tone all business. 

“Early this morning, an hour or so after the object came through, something else was recorded travelling through a disturbance. It landed about three miles east of where the hammer did.” Quinn brought up the image, stolen from Dr. Foster via digital surveillance. It featured a swirl of orange and blue and pink and a dark shape in the middle. She tapped the screen, the monitor wobbling slightly. “Something that looks like a man,” she said, moving out of the way so her boss could look. 

Coulson narrowed his eyes at the screen, and then looked at the tech. “When did we get this information?” he asked the tech. 

“Twenty minutes ago, sir.” 

“And why were we not informed?” 

The tech’s face turned bright red, his eyes dropping to the floor before he forced them back up. He ran a hand back through his curly blond hair a couple times—a nervous gesture. “I don’t know, sir. I couldn’t find anyone and when I finally did tell my superior, I just assumed that he would let someone know.” His face continued to redden; he must have been fairly new to SHIELD. 

Coulson sighed, the frustration that had been building leaving his body. “It’s fine. We’ve got it now.” He backed up from the computer and gestured for Quinn to follow as he moved through the growing complex. “Get out there and see what you can find. If it was a man, and Dr. Foster and her team found him, they may have taken him to the hospital. Find him and get me what information you can. There’s already a team in town, but they’re not looking for anything specific, just keeping an eye out and keeping an eye on Dr. Foster’s building.” 

Quinn was slightly rankled at the thought of running surveillance on a man that might not even exist, but she said nothing. The more she saw, the more confident she felt whatever was going on would be interesting to Fury and the Avengers Initiative, and she wasn’t going to let this chance get away. She nodded when Coulson looked over his shoulder at her, and when they came to a stop at his station in the complex, overlooking the object interred in the ground, she stood to the side, hands on her hips. 

“Are you going to retrieve Dr. Foster’s equipment?” 

“Yes, as soon as we have enough empty vehicles to carry it all.” Coulson raised a steady gaze to Quinn’s face. “What is it?” he asked. 

“Nothing.” 

“Quinn, you are, for all intents and purposes, my protégé. I know when something is bothering you.” 

The young woman sighed and ran a hand back over her hair, pulling some stray strands back into place. “Something about stealing her equipment just feels sort of wrong, Boss. She’s the only one we’re aware is studying these disturbances, and it’s likely she knows more than anyone else about what’s going on. Shouldn’t we enlist her help? Recruit her?” 

“We should,” Coulson agreed. 

“But we’re supposed to try and replicate the equipment right?” Quinn rolled her eyes when Coulson nodded. “I wonder whose decision that was.” 

“If I had to guess, Pierce or the World Council vetoed Fury’s desire to recruit her, and told him to try and replace her with someone already on staff, someone they can control. It’s no secret that none of them are fans of the Avengers Initiative. In fact, they’ve been trying to slow the project pretty much since the Director started, and they’re likely to use whatever the outcome is here to scrap it all together.”

Quinn pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger as she sighed, her braid slipping over her shoulder as she dropped her head slightly. “Stealing her equipment is not going to go over well, and this whole thing between Fury and the higher ups… that’s not going to go anywhere good either.” 

“I know, but we can’t worry about that right now.” Coulson gave Quinn’s shoulder a squeeze. 

She nodded. “I’ll get into town. Standard recon, I’m guessing? Civilian clothes, cell phone only for communicating?” Coulson pressed his lips together and nodded once, that expression telling Quinn he didn’t want to put her back on surveillance when she’d been longing to get away from it, but he wanted someone he trusted relaying information on something potentially sensitive. “I’ll keep you updated via text, Boss.” 

“Thanks kid.” 

Quinn’s lips twitched upward, but it wasn’t exactly a smile. She moved through the complex until she was at the trailers serving as barracks while they were in Puente Antiguo, where she retrieved her bag and locked herself in one of the washrooms. The space was small, but it didn’t really hamper Quinn as she changed from her suit and heels into jeans, a tank top and plaid shirt, and running shoes. She tucked her wallet, phone, and badge into her pockets, and kept her throwing knives belted beneath her jeans. She couldn’t keep her pistol without drawing attention, so she affixed the holster for her backup gun around her ankle and slid the small piece into place. 

Sufficiently camouflaged and armed, she left the compound in Coulson’s sedan, driving a little faster than was probably necessary. 

* * *

_June 1st, 2011  
_ _Puente Antiguo, New Mexico_  

As the morning progressed, the glare of the sun became more oppressive, and Quinn found herself squinting even with her sunglasses on. It was around ten o’clock in the morning and the heat was building, but it didn’t bother her so much. 

The time of day also meant the town was as busy as it probably could be, and the buzz was all about the “satellite” that had crashed in the desert and the feds who had taken control of it. Quinn smiled to herself, listening to the people chatting as she searched for a parking spot. They seemed to think the heat of the metal entering the atmosphere had melted it to the ground upon impact, and that was why no one could move it, and they were sure it was one of the alphabet agencies who had quarantined the area. They weren’t completely wrong, but SHIELD wasn’t on anyone’s lips. Like the cashier at the gas station, they’d likely never heard of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. That was just how SHIELD liked it. 

She found a parking spot near the centre of the small town, on the street in front of a pet store. The chatter continued as she made her way on foot through Puente Antiguo, and she texted the rumours she overheard about the object to Coulson. It might not have been exactly useful, but it was interesting, and it was good to know what the locals were thinking. Puente Antiguo was a quaint little place. Quiet and almost oddly neat, but Quinn liked it, and she enjoyed her walk through it.   

She’d been walking for about fifteen minutes when her phone rang. “Yes Boss?” 

_“One of the techs pulled Dr. Foster’s cell records. She was at the hospital shortly after the second… object came through.”_

“The man-shaped object?” 

_“I can hear the smile in your voice, Agent Scott.”_

Quinn snorted. “Wiping that smile out of my voice, sir, and heading for the hospital.” 

_“No need.”_

“Then what—” 

_“One of the agents who was in town before you already questioned the admissions nurse. Dr. Foster came in early this morning with Dr. Selvig and a young woman named Darcy Lewis. They brought in an unconscious man—big, blond, and going by the name of Thor.”_

“Like the Norse god?” 

_“Like the Norse god,”_ Coulson agreed. “ _Anyways, they tried to treat him, but he was uncooperative and they couldn’t get enough blood or anything to test. After a short time, he recovered and evidently escaped. Dr. Foster and the others returned for him a couple of hours later—just before we showed up, actually—but he was gone.”_ There was the sound of rustling papers, like Coulson was looking for something, though it probably had nothing to do with what he was talking about. _“Someone in the store across the street said she saw a big blond man in a hospital robe roaming the parking lot until someone backed into him with a car.”_

“What? Someone hit him?” 

_“Jane Foster hit him. But he got up, perfectly fine, and then got in the car with her and they drove off.”_

Quinn stopped walking, her mouth parted slightly in shock at Coulson’s information. “That’s insane. Maybe he really is the god of thunder.” She shook her head and started walking again. “I’ll try and locate Dr. Foster than. Maybe our mysterious blond stranger is still in the company of the good doctor.” She rounded the corner and found herself near the edge of town where Dr. Foster’s makeshift lab was located. “I’m nearby. Shouldn’t take too long to get some answers.” 

_“Be careful. Any man who can get hit by a car and walk away unscathed is likely someone to be reckoned with.”_

“Don’t worry, Boss. I’ll take care when dealing with our earthbound god.” She heard Agent Coulson chuckle before she hung up and slipped her phone into the back pocket of her jeans. “Thor, god of thunder…” she whispered to herself. “That would be something.” 

Quinn only had to take a few more steps before she found what she was looking for, or rather who she was looking for. 

There was a diner on the corner, and sitting at a table inside was Dr. Jane Foster. Quinn recognized her face from her file in SHIELD’s database. With her were Dr. Erik Selving, a middle-aged man with a no-nonsense demeanour made almost intimidating by his large frame, and a young, bespectacled woman who must have been Darcy Lewis. Rounding out their group was another man, blond and large; well, large might have been a bit of an understatement—the man’s broad shoulders made him huge.   

_Found him. At diner with Foster,_ she typed to Coulson. 

She was about to say that she was going in, when the man who could only have been Thor got to his feet and left the diner, a determined look in his eye and a small smile on his face. He was moving fast, and he was headed in Quinn’s direction. He caught sight of Quinn after a second and switched direction to head right for her.   

“Excuse me, miss,” he called, voice deep and commanding, his blue eyes alight. 

There was something about him, something almost otherworldly, and it struck Quinn momentarily paralyzed as she watched him approach. He certainly had the stature of a Norse god. Big, muscular, blond, blue-eyed… “Uh,” she managed, trying to force herself out of the stupor. “Yeah?” 

“Do you know where I could buy a horse?” 

“A horse?” 

Amusement took over his features, bringing a whole new light to his face and tone to his voice. The look made Quinn smile as well; she couldn’t help it. “Yes, a horse: big, four-legged creature with a mane and tail?” he said, eyes crinkling.   

Quinn’s answering laugh was almost indignant, frustrated more with her apparent lack of control than anything else. She was smart, skilled, and didn’t remember the last time she’d been taken by a pretty face. She offered a small, apologetic smile. “I know what a horse is—and no, I don’t know where you would be able to buy one. Probably nowhere around here, though. There aren’t a lot of horses in the desert anymore, and this is a small town.” 

Thor looked around, the sunlight catching off his hair. “Of course.” His smile fell. “I need to get somewhere fifty miles from here. Do you know the best way to do that if I cannot procure a horse or some other beast large enough to ride?” 

_Good God,_ Quinn thought, watching the light, studying his face, _get your shit together, Quinn._ “Another beast large enough to ride?” 

“Do you not have any other such creatures?” 

Quinn’s brow furrowed as she studied Thor. He was serious, though such a prospect was unbelievable—in the States, anyway—unless he actually _was_ Thor, the Norse god who resided in Asgard, where they would have all manner of interesting creatures, controlled lightning, and wielded the magical hammer, Mjolnir… _Mjolnir—a hammer. A hammer only he can pick up. Holy shit._ Quinn had long studied mythologies of the world; Norse was among her favourites. 

But he couldn’t be Thor. It was impossible. 

Wasn’t it? 

_Just like a man flying around in a metal suit, and another man who turns into a green monster when he gets angry._ Quinn shook her head. She’d only been silent for a couple seconds, her thoughts moving fast, but Thor was still looking at her like he was slightly concerned. “Catch a ride with someone,” she said with a shrug, trying to play it off like she’d been thinking of an answer to his question. “You don’t want to walk fifty miles through the desert. That’s a long way.” Quinn opened her mouth to offer to take him—getting him to the base would be ideal, especially if he actually was Thor—but Jane Foster approached at that moment, drawing Thor’s attention. “Uh, I hope you get where you’re going,” she said lamely, lifting a hand and backing away. 

Thor gave her another bright smile and nodded. “Thank you.” 

Quinn felt her cheeks flush slightly, but she returned the smile before turning her back on the scene and walking away. At the first opportunity, she stepped out of sight, into a narrow alley between two buildings. She could still hear Thor and Jane, talking about getting him out of town. 

_Tried to get him to base,_ Quinn typed, even as she listened. _Foster intervened. Thor wants to get to the hammer._

_Do you know why he wants it?_

It was rare for Coulson to text back when he was just receiving updates. He must have been very curious. _Think he might actually be a god—can’t believe I’m typing that. Wait until you meet him. You’ll see._

_Get him here._

_No worries, Boss. By the sounds of things, he’s getting there come hell or high water._ Quinn peeked around the corner in time to see Thor striding off down the street towards the edge of town, and Jane being led back towards her lab. Selvig and Darcy were walking ahead of her, calling to her, and though Jane was following, she kept looking over her shoulder, watching Thor. _He’s walking._

_Then we have time._

_Wouldn’t count on it. Foster doesn’t look like she’s letting this go._

_We’re taking her equipment now. Can you stall?_

Quinn stepped back out into the street, intent on calling after Jane, but it was too late—she was running now, out ahead of the others, having caught sight of her lab and the black trucks no doubt surrounding it. _Sorry Boss, but you’ve been spotted._

_Head back—I’ll handle this. Barton should be at base. Let the “god” walk._

_Shouldn’t pick him up?_ Quinn was already heading back to where she’d parked the sedan, her braid swinging as she ran. 

_No telling how he’ll react once you tell him he can’t leave the complex. Rather prepare everyone. Get there fast. Right behind you._

Quinn huffed as she climbed behind the wheel and started the car. She didn’t like leaving Thor to walk through the desert. He’d be fine, she supposed, if he was the god of thunder, but it still felt like leaving an unnecessary lose end. But she wasn’t going to disobey orders. Not directly anyway. She dialed Barton’s number as she pulled onto the main street of the small town, heading into the desert. 

_“Scottie.”_

“Can’t you say hello like a normal person?” 

_“Sometimes,”_ Barton said, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. _“What’s up?”_

“There’s a man walking through the desert, coming for the hammer from Puente Antiguo. Can you put a satellite on him to keep an eye on him, and start preparing people for a possible attack?” 

Quinn heard Clint relay the order to someone. _“Attack from one man?”_

“I know it sounds crazy, but just get security on alert, okay? I’m on my way back now, and Coulson will be along shortly after.” Quinn sighed. She’d left the city from the opposite direction as Thor, and was now speeding through the desert, far ahead of the god. “Something might be up, something we can’t really control, but we should still be prepared.” 

_“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were worried.”_

“Cautious. See you soon.” 

_“See you.”_

Quinn hung up and tossed her phone onto the passenger seat. Her heart was pounding in chest a bit, though she wasn’t exactly sure why—excitement as the possibility of having a Norse god on Earth, probably. Or excitement about the Avengers Initiative possibly coming into play. Or both. Or maybe she was scared that Thor wouldn’t turn out to be a friendly, though that was hard to believe, based on what she’d seen. 

_It doesn’t matter,_ she told herself. _One step at a time._


	5. Chapter 5

_June 1st, 2011  
_ _Fifty Miles Outside Puente Antiguo, New Mexico_

Quinn was pleased to find the base a flurry of activity when she returned. She'd known Clint would follow her suggestion if he thought it was worthwhile—and clearly, he did—but it was still nice to see the security teams at the entrances, and to notice that most activity was confined to inside the base's walls. It was nice to know her word still carried some weight, even after her failures. She parked the sedan back where she'd found it, and forwent changing back into her suit and heels to head straight for the command centre to look for Barton. Not finding him there, she moved to the small second level overlooking the hammer at the centre of the complex. Hawkeye always preferred higher ground if he could get it.

And indeed, that's where he was, leaning his forearms on the railing and watching the bustle around him with sharp eyes.

"Thanks," Quinn said, leaning on the railing beside him.

He turned his head to the side and raised his eyebrows at the younger agent, knowing what she was referring to. "You gonna tell me why I've got the whole base in chaos for one guy?"

"Because he's coming here for the hammer, and he really, really wants it," she said, and then she winced, her tawny eyes scrunching. Her voice came out at a higher pitch than normal, like she was forcing the words out. "And I think there's a solid chance that he might be Thor, the Norse god of thunder."

Barton laughed, but it was the barked laughter of someone who didn't exactly believe what he was hearing. "A god?"

"I know how it sounds, Barton, but let's just play it better safe than sorry until we know for sure that I'm crazy, okay?" Barton nodded, and a laugh burst out of Quinn. She hung her head, shaking it back and forth. She couldn't wipe the smile off her face, amused at her own potential insanity. "I also know how the words about to come out of my mouth are going to sound, but I know you're about to ask me why I think he might be a god."

"The thought had crossed my mind, yeah."

"When I spoke to him, he… he wasn't familiar with Earth. Like, he knew some things and enough to conduct himself and escape a cursory glance, but the gaps in his knowledge of Earth were exposed quickly." Quinn sighed. "He doesn't move like a human, and he doesn't talk or carry himself like anyone from this century. I know this doesn't make him a god definitively, but he was found in the desert, right around the time of the second occurrence, and right after that—" she pointed at the hammer, shining dully in the bluish lights of the compound "—came through. Mjolnir."

"You do sound certifiable Scottie, but I can tell you believe it. Even though you only spoke to him for a minute." He gave a small sigh. "But I'm starting to get used to there always being more going on that what's on the surface. There's a man flying around in a metal suit, another one who turns into a giant green man when he's mad, and SHIELD has a freaking list of people who might have strange powers or abilities… Nothing is normal anymore." Barton paused, a thoughtful look taking over his face. "You're not just doing this because you want him to be eligible for the Avengers Initiative?"

Quinn rubbed a hand over her face. She hated that Barton knew her so well sometimes. "I'm not going to deny that would be a great way to mark my return from recon hell, but that's not… all this is about. Something more is going on with this guy and I didn't want the base getting caught off guard."

Barton sighed again. "I can understand that. What's the Boss think?"

"I haven't had a chance to tell him the details of my crazy theory yet, though I told him I thought Thor might actually be a god. He might think I was kidding." Quinn scratched the side of her head, mouth twisted thoughtfully. "Gonna fill him in when he gets back, which…" She looked at her phone, and did some quick mental calculations. "Which should be soon, provided he actually left Puente Antiguo shortly after I did." At her words, Clint nudged her and pointed out into the desert, visible over the top of the compound. Three black dots were visible on the horizon, moving fast and growing larger with every second. "Speak of the devil," Quinn muttered.

The duo descended back into the compound proper, navigating the chaos of agents and techs with practiced ease. They moved through the main area of the compound—where the walls were constructed of bullet-resistant plastic and there were actual doors that locked—and down a hall constructed of plastic sheeting, before they were outside. A hastily-constructed but secure fence surrounded the area, and Quinn and Barton exited the compound right near the only gate in or out. They stood to one side, watching the SUVs approach, standing identically with the arms crossed over their chests. Those stationed at the gate took notice of their arrival, but said nothing. For a long while, neither Clint nor Quinn said anything. It wasn't an uncommon practice between them, but this time there was something uncomfortable in the quiet.

"Are you sure about this Scottie?"

She shook her head, chewing on her bottom lip. "Not in the slightest."

"But you believe there's a good chance we're dealing with gods? Magic?"

"Yes."

Barton huffed; the vehicles were almost at the base, and he was preparing himself. "All right then, it's not likely Coulson will get mad or anything, but in any case—" He looked at Quinn, smiling, though it didn't actually reach his eyes. He was uncomfortable with her assumptions, and she didn't blame him. "—I've got your back."

She elbowed Barton, one corner of her mouth rising. He was right—it was unlikely Coulson would be mad or anything, even if he didn't believe her. Quinn hadn't utilized or called in any unnecessary resources, just shuffled personnel around, and she hadn't gone blabbing her thoughts to everyone. Just Barton. Besides, Coulson knew of her fascination with Norse mythology. Hell, he'd encouraged it. He also knew her interest in the Avengers Initiative, and while he might not appreciate her engineering such a response to a potential threat, a potential asset for the Initiative, Coulson would not hold it against her. Most likely.

Provided she didn't do anything stupid. Or anything  _else_  stupid.

Quinn doubled over, braced her hand on her knees, her nerves getting the better of her. "Ahh, what am I doing?" she gasped.

Knowing she wasn't looking for an answer, and knowing she didn't actually want to go back on her decision, Clint just clapped her on the back, and then squeezed her shoulder. "At attention, Scottie. Boss is here."

She gave herself a shake and righted herself. If she was going to do this, she wasn't going to shrink from it.

* * *

_June 1st, 2011  
_ _Fifty Miles Outside Puente Antiguo, New Mexico_

"Someone has breached the perimeter, sir, and we've got a massive storm brewing above us."

"Where the hell did that come from?" Quinn wondered aloud, watching the monitor over the tech's shoulder.  _He's the god of thunder, that's where._

The storm was indeed massive, covering the base and much of the surrounding desert. Thor could be seen, a bright figure, moving near the edge of the base. Jane Foster had picked up him about an hour and half previous and brought him to the hammer; she could be seen huddling on a dune a short distance beyond the base's fence. Quinn had been keeping an eye on Thor since she'd returned to the base, and security had remained on alert, so they were ready for him. The storm though, that might complicate things. Lightning flashed suddenly on the screen and outside, and then thunder shook the air, the walls rattling slightly.

"Holy shit."

Coulson looked back at Quinn, eyebrows raised. "It's time to see if you're right about our blond stranger, storm or no."

Quinn still hadn't changed back into her suit and heels, but she had added her sidearm to her ensemble, and rested her hand on the butt of that gun now, fingers tapping at the leather of the holster. "I know I'm right about him wanting the hammer, but I don't know if he means us any harm, though I don't think he does."

"Well we'll find out soon. Come on."

Quinn accepted the tablet the tech handed her, one set up to show the satellite image of the base, and followed Coulson toward the observation level. The base was visible, outlined beneath the clouds, but most of the screen was taken up by the storm. She didn't mind being able to keep an eye on the storm, though. Privately, Quinn admitted she was watching for something magical, something more to indicate she wasn't crazy. Coulson hadn't said it outright, but Quinn could see it in his eyes that he was questioning her motives, her thoughts. She wanted something more to prove her assumption to herself, to Coulson, to everyone.

_What am I doing?_ she asked herself, not for the first time.

But then it didn't matter what she was doing or why she was doing it.

Someone tried to stop Thor's progress through the base. He retaliated, and then security was on him, trying to block his path, to bring him into custody. Coulson sprinted for the second level and Quinn followed, though part of her wanted to run toward the fighting, to see what was happening. It started to rain as they ran, making the metal paths slick, but they still moved quickly. She could hear the grunts, the cries of pain, and knew none of them were coming from Thor. As they reached the second level, Quinn could see that the sounds of fists on flesh were most definitely coming from Thor. He was throwing some of SHIELD's top security personnel around like they were nothing, and he moved as if he'd spent his life learning how to fight.

"Holy shit," Quinn said for the second time that night.

"I'll give you this, kid. He's impressive." Coulson touched the communicator in his ear. "Barton, I need an eye in the sky. Wait for my word."

Quinn couldn't hear Barton's response, but she didn't need to in order to know what it was. Instead, she listened for the sound of the crane used to construct the base; Barton liked high ground, and there was no way to get any higher in the area. She heard the whirring of the motor and looked up in time to see the basket swinging into view, the bluish light glinting off the water on Clint's bow. She pushed some wet hair out of her face as she looked back down at the hammer.

Thor had reached it. There was a triumphant grin on his face as he reached out and wrapped his fingers around the handle.

Everything and everyone went still.

Thunder rumbled overhead, lightning flashed, the rain drummed harder on the ground, turning it to mud.

Thor pulled on the hammer, and his face fell when it didn't budge.

Coulson turned to look at Quinn, eyebrows raised. Quinn's answering look was blank, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. She refocused her attention on Thor, who was pulling desperately at the hammer now, bestial sounds issuing from his throat as rain and mud-soaked arms bulged with the effort. Tears prickled at Quinn's eyes. His shock and grief and anger were palpable. Thor fell to his knees in the mud, staring in disbelief at the hammer with his mouth open and shoulders slumping. Even as far away as she was, Quinn could see the tears on his cheeks, mingling with the mud and rain.

When two SHIELD agents approached with handcuffs, Thor didn't resist.

He was defeated.

Quinn was moving before she'd given it much thought. She heard Coulson following her as she headed for the mirrored room that had been prepared for this—granted, it had been prepared with friendlier circumstances in mind. By the time Quinn and Coulson reached the empty room, Thor was zip-tied to a chair. His chin was touching his chest, his shoulders slumped.

"Can I talk to him, Boss? Maybe I could put him at ease and get information from him that way."

Coulson regarded Quinn with a slight twist to his mouth—he was suspicious and unsure. With the way she'd been acting since they're arrived in Puente Antiguo, she couldn't exactly blame him. "I think I'll talk to him first. You can go in after, if you still feel it necessary."

Quinn inclined her head and took up a stance outside the clear door to the room, standing far enough back that she wouldn't be immediately visible from inside the room, and crossed her arms over her chest. Sometimes even she knew when to shut her mouth and stand back.

Coulson fixed his tie and then headed into the room, his face a mask of calm and nonchalance. The smile he gave Thor was a hollow and professional thing, as was the tone of voice he used as he questioned the giant man. Coulson asked for Thor's name, his country of origin, who he worked for—a series of banal questions that Thor gave no response to, save for lifting his head and staring at Coulson with anger, hurt, and betrayal in his eyes. His jaw was clenched, as were his hands. He gave Coulson nothing, but from the SHIELD agent's bearing, no one would have guessed how much that rankled him.

He exited the room and huffed.

"Do you think you can get the information we need from him?"

"I think I can get something from him," Quinn said, uncrossing her arms and dropping her hands to her hips. "Since I'm the only one who's willing to believe he's not human."

"Quinn."

She ran a hand back through her hair, pushing the stray strands back from her face and tucking them behind her ears. "Boss—"

Coulson raised a hand, cutting her off before she could start babbling. His face was still that professional mask, and his hands were on his hips, which worried Quinn more than anything else. "Quinn, this operation is your chance to prove to me, to Fury, to SHIELD, that you are capable of making it through a mission without making any rash decisions that put you, or anyone else in danger. You want off recon, you want to lead missions on your own, you've got to do this right." She opened her mouth to protest, but Coulson's eyes narrowed, cutting her off once again. His expression took on that fatherly tone it did sometimes when Quinn was involved. "So far, you haven't done anything untoward, though putting security on alert for one man did raise a couple flags; made a couple people think you need to be watched, and told me that you are walking the line. I don't want to see you busted back down to recon." He relaxed slightly. "Luckily, alerting security turned out to be the correct move.

"Now," he continued after a breath, "this won't come a surprise to you, but Fury's decided our friend there is a candidate for The Initiative, but we have to learn more about him first, before Fury decides. If you go in there, you can talk to him as if he is the god of thunder or whatever, but your primary objective is to gather information. Get his name, if Thor isn't his real name, find out why he's here, what he's after. Get everything you can, if you can get anything." He tilted his chin forward and looked up at Quinn, using a look Fury favoured; Quinn wondered if Coulson knew he was emulating the director. "You need to get information we can use and not let your curiosity get the better of you."

Quinn couldn't deny she was a little taken back. She blinked a few times and then nodded once. "Understood, sir," she managed to say, though it took her longer than it should have to find her voice.

Coulson held her gaze for a few more heartbeats, and then gestured for her to proceed into the room. Very aware that his eyes, and everyone else's in the room, were following her, Quinn entered the small room, and moved to stand in front of Thor.

"Hello," she said, hoping she sounded more amicable than she felt.

Like he had with Coulson, Thor looked up at her but said nothing.

So he didn't have to continue craning his neck, Quinn sat down on the floor in front of the big blond man and leaned back against the wall. "My name's Agent Scott, but you can call me Quinn if you want." She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"You were in town," he said after a moment of silence.

Not the answer she was looking for, but she'd run with it. "Yes. I was looking for you. We're pretty curious about you and that hammer outside. What are you doing in New Mexico?"

Again, Thor was silent for a time, his blue eyes studying her face. Quinn did her best to keep her tawny eyes wide and innocent. Eventually, he seemed to come to some sort of decision about her. "My name is Thor. I was… sent here against my will."

Quinn snorted a small laugh. "So was I. Can't say that I'm a fan of this heat, and I definitely can't wait to head back to New York." She flashed a quick smile up at Thor, who seemed to have relaxed slightly—seemed like a good time to bring up his otherworldly origins. "Were you sent here from Asgard?" Quinn asked, trying to make the ludicrous question sound casual.

Thor's eyes widened and he pulled slightly at his bonds. "You know who I am?"

"I had my assumptions, yeah. I'd say they were mostly confirmed." Quinn opened her mouth to continue, but the door opened suddenly, admitting Agent Jasper Sitwell. "What is it?" Quinn asked, pushing herself to her feet and moving closer to Sitwell. She dearly wanted to continue the conversation, especially with Thor willing to talk, but by the look on Sitwell's face, something was happening.

"Dr. Selvig is here to get him back; says his name is Donald," he said quietly, gesturing with his head at Thor. "ID is faked—amateur job, but Coulson wants you to cut his cuffs and bring him outside anyway. He's letting him go."

She was surprised, but Quinn nodded. Jasper disappeared, and Quinn turned back to Thor, a bright if insincere smile on her face. "Looks like you get to go back into the world tonight,  _Donald_ ," she said. Thor raised his eyebrows at the name and she shrugged. "Someone is here to claim you. Apparently we have a case of mistaken identity." Quinn moved behind the chair and cut the zip-ties with one of her throwing knives. When Thor was free, he rose and Quinn placed a hand on his elbow, guiding him towards the door and the freedom beyond. "For whatever it's worth," she said as they walked, "I'm sorry you're here."

Thor gave her a curious look.

Quinn led Thor through the command centre and down the steps to the desert outside. It was a well and truly dark now, the storm having abated at some point after apprehending Thor, and the absence of clouds left thousands of stars visible above them. Dr. Selvig stood at the base of the steps, conversing with Coulson about "Donald," and he smiled when Quinn and Thor came into view.

"Ah, there you are Donny," Selvig said. His hand replaced Quinn's on Thor's arm. "What do you say we get your home?"

Thor looked slightly confused, but he smiled and nodded, and then he and Selvig headed for the exit.

"Just keep him out of the bars!" Coulson yelled after them, and Selvig raised a hand in response. Then Coulson turned to Quinn, who had remained at his side. "Follow them."


	6. Chapter 6

_June 1st, 2011  
_ _Puente Antiguo, New Mexico_

" _You're at a bar and I'm stuck back at the base? How is that fair?"_

"Oh stop whining—it's not like I can drink while I'm on duty," Quinn said. "We can go for drinks after this is all over. We're overdue anyway. I'll even pay."

Quinn took a long sip of her Coke and leaned farther back in her booth, feet propped up on the opposite bench. Thor and Selvig were sitting at the bar across the room, chatting lively about something as they drank from enormous mugs of beer, completely oblivious to Quinn observing them from her shadowy corner. They'd been there about twenty minutes, and Quinn about fifteen. The restaurant had looked like a dive from the outside, but it was actually much nicer than she'd expected.

"Has the Boss said anything about Thor and The Initiative?" she asked.

" _Not yet, but he's called Fury and informed him of what's happened, and he keeps watching the tape of your conversation with him, short as it was. Think he's trying to figure out if Thor was lying or playing along with what you believed. Boss is worried about you, I think. I'm a little worried about you."_

"I'm fine, and Thor's not lying," Quinn said. "He was legitimately shocked when he found out I believed he could be a Norse god." Across the restaurant or pub or whatever it was the bartender brought Thor and Selvig plates of nachos, and something about that made Quinn smile; the god of thunder eating nachos. "Did the techs find anything else? When did the storm stop?"

" _Man, you are like a dog with a bone about this whole thing."_ Barton snorted as Quinn chuckled. _"The storm stopped almost as soon as we apprehended him, and the readings from the hammer stopped at the same time. It's been quiet ever since."_

Quinn made a happy noise, and took another drink. She wished it was something stronger than pop.

The readings coming off the hammer had been almost exactly the same as those from the atmospheric disturbances, and they'd picked up the closer Thor got to Mjolnir; the techs had been talking about it and comparing images of the readouts when she'd been watching Coulson interrogate Thor. She'd wanted to look at the readings, to see if it was the magical something she'd been waiting for, but she was too engrossed in the conversation to pull her eyes away. Barton had assured her at the beginning of their conversation that the readings were indeed nearly identical—he'd seen the charts himself. To hear the activity in the hammer and the sky had stopped when Thor had calmed confirmed her assumptions were correct.

He was the god of thunder.

Or, at the very, very least, he wasn't human.

"Like I said, something else is going on here, and now not even the most skeptical can't reasonably deny that." A waiter brought Quinn her own food—a platter of assorted appetizers, most of it fried—just as the bartender brought Thor and Dr. Selvig fresh beers. From the loud bits of conversation she could make out, Selvig was already quite drunk and was currently telling Thor why it was impossible for him to be a Norse god he grew up learning about. She took a bite from a mozzarella stick and savoured the taste. "You still think I'm certifiable?"

" _Not so much,"_ Barton said around a laugh. _"He put on a good show getting through all our men to get to that thing. I almost wanted him to pick it up."_

"I did want him to pick it up. Some of the Norse myths say he can fly when he's wielding Mjolnir, and that would have been something to see."

" _How do you know these things Scottie?"_

"I read," she jibed.

" _Hey now."_

"Is Coulson going to go ahead and try to dig that thing out of the ground?"

" _Soon. He's having the scientists run some more tests after seeing the way it reacted during the storm, but there are jackhammers standing by."_

"I don't think that's going to go over well." Selvig got up from his stool at the bar and stumbled towards the bathroom. Thor offered to help him walk, but Selvig waved him off and continued his lopsided journey. The big man laughed. "Did Fury have anything to say about digging it out?"

" _Not that I heard, though he's probably for it. Fury was already interested in this situation for the Avengers—that was why he passed the initial file to Coulson and Coulson showed it to you. If we can get some idea of Thor's abilities, Fury will probably be all over this."_

"If you make a crack about me getting my wish…"

" _Wouldn't dream of it Scottie."_

Selvig returned from the bathroom and promptly ordered more beer. Quinn sniggered to herself and dug into a potato skin smothered in cheese and bacon. "How are the men Thor took out on his way to the hammer?"

" _They're all fine. Some might be out of the field for a while with broken bones, but Thor didn't seriously injure any of them, just knocked them out. Seems you were right. I don't think he would have hurt anyone had they not intervened."_

"Good to hear they'll all be okay. Call me if anything else comes up. I'm going to sit here and try and not feel hurt that I'm back on recon."

" _At least you get to eat good food out there. The stuff at the base is shit—all they've got is pre-packed sandwiches and stuff, and don't get me started on the coffee."_ There was a sound that might have been Barton taking a sip of said disgusting coffee. _"Ugh. Gross. I hate missions in the middle of nowhere. Anyway, cheer up Scottie. Didn't you say that Thor was fun to look at?"_

"Shut up, Barton." Quinn ended the call with a smile on her face, and then tucked into her food, keeping an eye on Thor and Selvig.

After another round of beer and a few shots of something harder—probably the same stuff they're started the night with—Selvig could barely keep his feet under him. With the tab paid and the plates of nachos obliterated on the bar in front of them, Thor wrapped an arm around Selvig's waist and pulled the physicist's arm over his shoulders, supporting him as they made their way out to the street. Quinn, who had cleaned off her own plate, dropped a couple twenties on the table, grabbed her coat and bag, and followed at a discreet distance as the two men headed back to Dr. Foster's lab.

As was wont to happen in the desert, the night air was nearly freezing, even though it was nearing summer. Quinn had only just remembered to snag a coat along with a bag of equipment before she left the base, and she was glad she had. She wrapped it tightly around herself and headed for the buildings across the street from Foster's lab. It was the only place from which she could get a good vantage on the lab. Coulson's other surveillance team was positioned on another rooftop nearby, but in addition to watching Dr. Foster's lab, they were also charged with keeping tabs on the surrounding area as well. Quinn could get closer than they could, and she certainly did.

Close enough to see Thor toss Selvig over his shoulders as the doctor tumbled over his feet again, and close enough to see the panicked look on Jane's face when she opened the door to her trailer to find Thor and a senseless Selvig.

When her quarry was safely ensconced inside the trailer, Quinn left the street and climbed to the roof of an abandoned apartment above a convenience store currently in search of new owners; the other SHIELD agents in town had found the place during their surveillance and informed the base of its location. Quinn moved passed dusty shelves and climbed a creaky staircase, broke down a rotting door and emerged on the rooftop. There were scattered bottles and cans, the remnants of fast food meals, and several broken-looking chairs populating the rooftop, but it was otherwise unoccupied. Quinn took up a position facing Dr. Foster's lab, partially concealed in the shadows of the door she'd just come through.

From her bag, she extracted the small binoculars she'd used to observe the party surrounding the hammer and pointed them across the street.

* * *

  _June 2nd, 2011  
__Puente Antiguo, New Mexico_

 _Man, you can see a lot of stars out here,_ Quinn mused.

She was sitting in the least gross and broken chair on the roof, her coat held tight around her body with one arm. The binoculars were still in her other hand, but they weren't currently pressed to her face, which was tilted up to the night sky. There was a small directional microphone pointed at the roof of the lab, where Thor and Jane sat on lawn chair recliners around a fire pit. They'd settled there presumably after getting Erik Selvig into bed in one piece, and Thor had built a fire that was currently crackling merrily even over the microphone. Jane was bundled in a blanket and Thor was wearing a thick plaid coat, though it didn't look like the cold bothered him at all.

Thor was currently explaining the nine realms to Jane, sketching something in her notebook that he'd apparently retrieved from her confiscated stuff back at base. Quinn was listening as she stared up at the stars, wondering what the other realms were like, what Asgard was like. What did the stars look like from there? What stars had Thor grown up looking at?

" _What is Asgard like?"_ Jane asked when Thor's explanation came to a close.

The question was so in line with Quinn's current thoughts that she refocused on the scene across the rooftops. Thor was smiling and Quinn could hear him laughing over the microphone, a small and warm chuckle.

" _Asgard is a beautiful place,"_ Thor started.

His descriptions painted a beautiful picture in Quinn's mind and she found herself drifting, images of the towering trees blowing in the warm wind, gold and silver buildings shining in the sun, azure water shimmering and lapping at the black rocks, massive birds filling the air with their calls and the beats of their wings. He spoke of the training grounds, the magic, the animals, the people that filled his home. Quinn didn't miss that he left out the dangers, but she didn't care. She was enchanted.

And she was falling asleep.

With that thought, she jolted herself awake, sitting up straight and pressing the cold metal of the binoculars against her face. She wasn't going to mess up this assignment.

The chill brought her back to life, and after a moment, she poured herself a cup of coffee from the thermos in her bag, glad for the still-warm, though slightly bitter taste. Quinn felt her brain waking up, though her eyes were still heavy.

Thankfully, Thor had stopped speaking of Asgard. He had stopped speaking at all.

Quinn looked through the binoculars as she sipped at the rapidly-cooling coffee and found him and Jane gazing at each other. They were on their own chairs still, but they were reclined now, and had been pushed closer together, accommodating the pair stretched out on them. A small smile found its way to Quinn's lips. Thor and Jane looked happy. And warm.

The fire still crackled between them and Quinn was jealous of the warmth it was providing.

"Next time I'm stuck on recon in the cold, I'm asking for a portable space heater," she mumbled.

Almost as if brought on by her mutterings, the communicator in her ear buzzed with static. _"How's it going Quinn?"_

She was oddly relieved to hear Coulson's voice on the other end. Clint would have just teased her more. "Uneventful, Boss. I've still got eyes on Thor, but he's just hanging out with Dr. Foster."

" _Anything to report?"_

"He gave her a lovely description of Asgard," she said with more than a little cheek in her tone.

" _He could have been making it up."_ Quinn could hear the smile in his voice.

"Doubtful, Boss." She gave a small laugh. "Anything else interesting with the hammer? Or anything else?"

She could almost hear Coulson shaking his head at her enthusiasm, his eyes crinkled with amusement. _"Everything on our end has been quiet. I did hear from Natasha though—there's some interesting stuff going on with Mr. Stark. She says her report is going to be a big one."_

"I can't wait to read it."

" _Me either,"_ Coulson said, though he didn't sound as excited as Quinn. _"Keep alert, Quinn. I'll send someone to relieve you in a couple hours."_

Quinn nodded at the phone as she voiced the affirmative. "Sounds like a plan. Next time you send someone out into the desert night, you should give them a space heater. Or a warmer coat."

Coulson laughed, but then he disconnected the communicator, leaving Quinn to roll her eyes and turn her attention back to the scene across the roof. Jane had fallen asleep and Thor was still watching her, a small smile on his lips. As she gazed through the binoculars though, Thor sat up and turned to face Quinn. She couldn't be one-hundred percent sure he was looking at her though.

Not until he raised his hand in a wave however.

Quinn was raising a hand in response before she could stop herself. There was no point in hiding if he knew she was there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD WHAT
> 
> AN UPDATE
> 
> I'm not promising regular updates or anything, but I need to write. I need to work on my original stuff, and working on fanfiction seems to help me focus. Keeps me in the writing mood. 
> 
> I also missed Quinn. And I want to write her and Steve. But I gotta get there first.


	7. Chapter 7

She was walking through an icy wasteland, filled with the desire to get somewhere.

But where, Quinn didn't know. All she was knew was she had to get somewhere, find something, and she couldn't stop walking. Had to keep walking.

Snow started blowing after a bit, obscuring her vision. The wind was icy and pulling at her hair, her clothes, grabbing like hands. The urge to walk was strong, but she wanted to get warm. Had to get warm. If she froze to death, she couldn't keep walking. Couldn't find whatever she needed to find.

A hole opened up in the ice in front of her and Quinn slid into it, the darkness swallowing her into its warmth. Above her, through the snow and wind, lightning split the sky and thunder rumbled, shaking the ground, the ice, the air. Whatever it was that Quinn was hiding in vibrated with the percussion, and a high-pitched noise fill the air, as if the container was resonating with the thunder. The noise should have been annoying—Quinn didn't like high-pitched noises—but it was musical. She closed her eyes and let it lull her into a sense of calm as the storm raged outside.

She wrapped her arms around herself and walked deeper into the darkness, still propelled by the urge to keep going, to find… whatever she was looking for.

The space she had found herself in was cavernous and filled with snow-covered shapes. She had no idea what they were supposed to be and she didn't want too closely. Instead, she let her impulse direct her into the dark and the further she walked, the more excited she felt. She started running.

Whatever she was looking for, it was something she was going to like.

Quinn started running, her feet moving effortlessly across the icy ground. Beneath the snow, she started to see metal. The world started to glow with a bluish light. Quinn was smiling as she moved.

She wanted to get to the end of that dark tunnel, but after a few moments of running, everything started to shake. The thunder was back, louder, and the air all around her broke with light. Quinn fell to her knees, knocked off balance. The high-pitched noise was back, calling Quinn forward. She tried to get to her feet, but the shaking was so violent that she couldn't get her feet beneath her, so she dropped to her stomach and crawled, clawing her way along the metal, trying to reach her destination.

The noise was calling her.

She had to get to the end of that darkness ahead of her.

A sharp pain appeared in her shoulder and her name blew in on the wind.

_Quinn…_

_Quinn…_

_Quinn…_

* * *

_June 2nd, 2011  
_ _Puente Antiguo, New Mexico_

"Quinn."

Quinn awoke to a gentle prodding on her shoulder, not that she'd been asleep. Just dozing. When she opened her eyes, she found Clint standing over her with a wide grin on his face, a take-out cup of coffee in one hand and a white paper bag in the other. Quinn took both before sitting upright and adjusting the communicator that had fallen out of her ear; she was guessing he'd attempted to contact her but she hadn't responded and that had brought him into town. The dream still clung to the recesses of her mind, but she tried to ignore it. It was just a dream.

Though it hadn't felt like it. It had felt like more.

She shook her head and reluctantly looked up at Clint.

"Mornin' Scottie," Clint said, sounding far too cheerful. "Get a good rest?"

"I wasn't asleep," she assured him. "Just dozing. Heard you coming a mile away." She opened the bag and breathed deep the smell of a breakfast burrito, probably from the only fast-food restaurant in Puente Antiguo. "Aw, you got me a hashbrown too. Thanks Clint." She pulled the fried potato out and shoved it in her mouth, devouring the favoured food in just two bites. "Are you relieving me?" she managed to ask around the food.

Clint held Quinn's coffee as she started in on the burrito. "I can, if you want, but I thought you might just like a pick me up before returning to your observations of your Norse god." He handed her coffee cup back when she had a hand free.

Quinn rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. Clint knew her well.

She had been asleep—it had been a light sleep, but she had still been asleep—when Clint had approached. The coffee and food were doing wonders to bring her back to wakefulness, and though she knew she probably should let Clint relive her so she could get some sleep, Clint was right. She didn't want to leave.

Clint settled down on a chair he pulled up beside Quinn and sipped at his own coffee, quietly contemplating the building across the street. Quinn, who found her thoughts drifting back and forth between her dream and reality, was only minimally surprised at how much she wanted to stay on that rooftop. Sure, she didn't want to be on recon anymore, but this was just so different.

Okay, the actual recon-ing was not different, but the target was.

Quinn had read about Thor in her studies of ancient mythology, and it was just so mind-boggling to think that the big man who had waved at her from across the street the night before was capable of flying and calling lightning down. A figure from mythology. Walking around like he was a normal guy.

The lightning and thunder from her dream flashed through Quinn's mind. Had her dream been telling her something about Thor? About this situation?

She shook her head and focused once again on the green and white building she'd been staring at for hours.

The roof was empty now, though a faint trail of smoke was still rising from the fire pit. There was a fair bit of activity inside the building however. It looked like Thor and Jane were making breakfast while Dr. Selvig and Jane's assistant, Darcy, were sitting at the table chatting and awaiting their meal. Quinn adjusted her microphone until she could hear the sounds she'd imagined would go with such a scene: something sizzling away on the stove, the shrill cry of a boiling kettle, laughter and a groan from Selvig who moaned something about a hangover. Quinn laughed.

"How much did the good doctor drink last night?" Clint asked. He'd put one earbud from the directional microphone into his ear while Quinn kept the other.

"A lot. Like, a lot." Quinn finished off her burrito. "I think he was trying to out drink Thor in some display of masculinity, and, as you can see, our Norse god is completely fine. Almost like he wasn't affected by the lowly Midgardian booze." She wiggled her eyebrows at Clint, who echoed her earlier laughter.

"You know, I'm starting to believe that he's actually Thor."

"Of course booze would tip the scale."

"Hey!" Clint elbowed his younger friend. "Can you really blame me for being hesitant to believe that there might be a god walking among us?"

"I don't blame you for being hesitant, but I can't understand how you can be. Fury clearly believes there is much more going on than everyone thinks—hell, he's built this entire team around that idea and we've been assigned to help Coulson chase these leads down—"

"Most of which turn out to be nothing."

"Sure, but how can you not be excited about the possibilities?" Quinn turned to briefly look at Clint beside her. He never looked away from the scene across the street. "How can you not be looking forward to opening the world? Discover all these secrets?"

Clint was quiet for some time, the muscles in his jaw working as he chewed over his thoughts. He didn't even drink his coffee, a sure sign that he was deep in thought despite the early hour of the morning. "Maybe these secrets weren't meant to be discovered," he said finally.

Quinn sighed. "I can't say as I haven't thought about that, but... It's still too fascinating and exciting for me to walk away from."

"I'm not in the least bit surprised, Scottie." Clint pulled the bud from his ear, got to his feet and stood beside Quinn for a moment. "I'm going to head back to base now. I'll let the Boss know what's up. He's not going to be happy about you pulling a double shift, but something tells me he won't be surprised either." He drained his coffee and tucked the empty cup into the now-empty bag from Quinn's breakfast, not wanting to add to the litter already strewn across the rooftop. "Just radio if you need relief."

"Will do."

Clint walked to the door, stopping at the top of the steps. "Are you sure you want to stay, Scottie?"

Quinn turned and glared at her friend, lips pressed together in an unamused line. "I appreciate the concern, Clint, but I am fine."

The older agent sighed and then headed down the steps with a vague wave, leaving Quinn alone with her thoughts and the breakfast scene across the way.

Why was Clint so worried? Why was her enthusiasm a cause for concern? Quinn knew she had a higher chance of making mistakes when she was excited about something; she could be blinded by her own exuberance. She knew that. Was she blinded? She found herself frowning as she went over the past few days in her mind. Nothing jumped out, but then, would anything jump out at her? Would she be aware of anything Clint and Coulson would find worrying?

Maybe they were worried about what might happen if she kept going the way she was. That was more likely. Coulson was like her father, Clint like her brother. They would worry.

If that was indeed the reason behind the worry.

Or maybe she was imagining the whole thing.

Quinn rubbed her hands vigorously over her face, trying to rid herself of the pervasive thoughts; if she didn't stop picking through the events of the last few days or the reasons behind the worrying, if it even existed, she would fixate on it for far too long.

Instead, her mind drifted back to the dream Clint had awoken her from. It hadn't been particularly pleasant or positive. Maybe subconsciously she was worried.

_For fuck's sake, Quinn, stop thinking about it._

_I need more sleep._

Suddenly feeling restless, Quinn jumped to her feet and walked to the edge of the roof, shaking her limbs as she moved. When she was once again still, she pulled her coat tight around her body and wiggled her way deep into its warmth. It may have been day, but the sun had yet to warm the air completely; the breeze was still chilly as it wound its way around Quinn, pulling at her already messy hair, and a thick bank of clouds was creeping in.

For a little while everything was quiet. Quinn stood at the edge of the roof and watched the domestic scene, listening without her former interest. She wasn't letting her mind wander. In fact, she was so focused that when some commotion broke out down the street, Quinn was actually startled.

She jumped as someone cried out, a scream of fear.

She moved quickly toward the side of the roof to her left, where she could look down over the main street of Puente Antiguo. Her tawny eyes scanned the sparse crowd for the source of the scream, her body tense and alert for danger; one hand was at the small of her back underneath her coat, fingers on the hilt of one of her throwing knives. The gun on her ankle was too far out of reach if she needed a weapon quick.

Several blocks away, four figures were moving with purpose toward Jane's makeshift lab, civilians moving quickly out of their path. Quinn squinted in the faint sunlight leaking through the clouds, trying to make out the details of the newcomers, to decide if they were dangerous or not. They certainly weren't from anywhere nearby. From the way they walked and from the armour and weapons they appeared to be decked out in, they weren't even from Earth.

More Asgardians.

Quinn had to supress the urge to run down to the street and intercept them, her interest and curiosity once again flaring to life, Coulson and Barton's worry and her dream pushed from her mind. She settled for tracking their advance while still listening to what was going on with Thor and the others.

When they were close enough, Quinn could make out that the new group was made up of one woman and three men. The woman was leading the group, her face set in a determined expression, sight set on the building at the end of the street; she knew where Thor was. She carried a shield and sword, and wore armour of red and silver. The men were similarly armed. Quinn counted a rapier, a flail, and an axe, and the three men were as varied as their weapons: one was tall, thin, and blond, another was shorter, stockier, and darker of colour, and the third was tall, wide, and had a joyful expression visible even from the distance Quinn was standing at.

_Actually,_ she mused as she returned to her former observation position, _they all look pretty cheerful. Maybe they are friends of Thor's. But I wonder why they're here. Have they come to bring Thor home?_

Her communicator buzzed. She touched her ear.

" _Are you seeing this?"_

It was the team across the street. Quinn looked at the opposite rooftop and the duo stationed there—Garrett and Cale, she thought—watching the newcomers with the same rapt attention as she was. "I am," she answered. "You let base know?"

" _I let them know Xena, Jackie Chan, and Robin Hood had arrived out of nowhere, yeah."_

"There are four of them."

" _I couldn't think of a clever nickname for the big guy. I heard you were something of an expert on this whole situation Agent Scott—do you think they're dangerous?"_

Quinn rolled her eyes, sure it was Barton who had mentioned something about her being an expert. "Yeah, they're dangerous, but I'm positive they don't mean us any harm. I think they're here for Thor."

" _What the hell is happening around here?"_

It sounded like a rhetorical question, but Quinn answered it anyway. "Who the hell knows?"

" _Well, I thought you might."_

Quinn snorted. She dropped her eyes back to the advancing Asgardians.

They'd reached the old restaurant and were pressed right up against the glass from what Quinn could tell. She could also hear them yelling happily over the directional microphone.

" _My friends!"_ Thor cried. The happiness and surprise in his voice was nearly heartbreaking. _"I don't believe it! Oh, excuse me—Lady Sif, and the Warriors Three: Volstagg, Hogun, and Fandral."_ Quinn could see him introducing the new Asgardians to Jane and the others, the warriors bowing in turn. _"My friends, I have never been so happy to see you, but you should not have come."_

" _We're here to take you home,"_ blond Fandral said, voice full of disbelief.

" _You know I cannot come home. My father is dead because of me—"_ Quinn bit off a small gasp of surprise— _"I must remain in exile."_

" _But Thor, your father still lives."_ Sif's voice was soft. Quinn could picture the disbelief on Thor's face, but she couldn't imagine what he must be feeling. _"We came to bring you home. Loki needs to be stopped, and he will listen only to you."_

If Lady Sif or Thor or anyone said anything after that statement, Quinn didn't hear it. With the earbud for the microphone in one ear and the communicator in the other, she'd been catching snippets of a conversation Coulson was having, but at that moment, the conversation in the lab was overwhelmed by Quinn's boss yelling.

" _There's something big coming, kid—get—"_

But Quinn didn't get to hear the rest.

Coulson's voice cut off at the same time the air pressure changed. Quinn's gaze was drawn back down the main road, back the way the Asgardians had come, and she found herself staring at dark clouds flickering with rainbow light. It was the same disturbance that had brought Thor and, presumeably, Lady Sif, Volstagg, Hogun, and Fandral as well. It was the Bifrost, the connection to Asgard, to the other realms. But this time it was building.

Something big was coming indeed.

There was a sound like an electric shock, like something tearing. The air shook; Quinn was reminded of her dream.

A column of that rainbow light smacked into the ground.

"Boss?" Quinn called into the communicator in the biggest voice she could manage. "Coulson?"

The Bifrost retreated into the clouds.

There was no answer, just static.


	8. Chapter 8

_June 2nd, 2011  
Puente Antiguo, New Mexcio_

The big thing turned out to be a giant made of metal, whose steps rocked the earth and who could shoot laser beams from its face. Laser beams that tore through anything in its path. That sounded like they were tearing the very air.

Maybe laser wasn't the right word. More like a directed explosion of destructive energy. And heat.

Quinn saw the orange-yellow glow of those beams before she saw the giant itself. She saw a building fall and heard people screaming before she saw the sun glinting off the otherworldly metal of the giant's construction. She was riveted to her position on the roof, watching its approach, too scared, too fascinated to move. She was dimly aware of those in the lab running out to the street, but without the microphone pointed at them, she was deaf to what they were saying, though she could guess.

" _Scott—ba—base—"_

Her communicator buzzed in her ear, the voice—Agent Cale's—sounding like it was coming from a great distance even as it broke and cracked through the static. "You're breaking up Cale. Say again."

No response.

Spurred into some action, Quinn switched channels and tried to reach Coulson again. He'd tried to warn her of the giant's approach and she still didn't know if he was okay. Had he been on the ground when the giant had landed? Had it fired at him and the other agents? Had he survived? "Boss? Boss, can you hear me?" She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice.

Nothing.

"Boss? Coulson?"

Nothing.

" _Scott!"_

Cale's voice exploded over the earbud when she switched the channel back, but then there was nothing but static and a boom from down the street as the giant's beam hit a gas station. Below her, Thor, Jane and the others started running through the nearby buildings and up to the civilians who were standing in the street, paralyzed by fear. The residents of Puente Antiguo fled through back doors, and drove away from the approaching danger, getting on the back streets, out of the line of sight. The thing wasn't interested in what it couldn't see. The Asgardians, minus Thor, approached the giant, weapons ready. They were going to give Thor and the others time to get the civilians out, give the people time to run.

Quinn, who had been contemplating the best way to get to safety since the backdoor of the building she was hiding in was blocked by old furniture, froze. The building she was standing on wasn't connected to anything, and if she left through the front door, she would step right into the giant's line of sight.

She watched Hogun and Fandral throw Volstagg at the monstrosity. Watched the metal giant bat the big Asgardian aside like he was nothing. Watched Sif drive her sword—now a spear-like weapon—clean through the giant, bending it over and pinning it to the ground on the other side, a triumphant smile on her face. Watched it turn itself around, unpin itself, and throw Sif roughly to the ground.

Quinn knew she didn't want to be anywhere that thing could see her. She crouched down, hiding as much of herself as she could behind the rampart.

" _Quinn? Quinn, what's going on?"_

The SHIELD agent jumped as Coulson's voice crackled through her head. "Boss? Boss! You're okay!"

" _I'm fine. What's happening in town? Are you okay?"_ Coulson's voice was a little shaky, probably from his close encounter with the giant. There was concern there too, which touched Quinn; she wished she had left earlier, gotten out of town and returned to base. _"Any idea what that thing is?"_

She peeked over the edge of the low wall. Thor was encouraging his friends to get out of the way, to get to safety probably, and the giant was still approaching, moving at a ponderous pace. It didn't care how long it took to get to its target; there wasn't anywhere anyone could hide when you could literally tear through anything in your path. Thor kept looking over his shoulder at the giant however, and the set of his shoulders told Quinn he was scared.

"I can't say for sure, but I'd guess it's Asgardian and it's after Thor."

" _Why can't you say for sure?"_

"The microphone stopped working about the same time the comm. started to go wacky. This is the first clear conversation I'd been able to get out of it in a while."

" _I'm back at the base."_

"Stronger signal," Quinn said, a tone of realization taking over the fear in her voice. "Good idea."

" _Quinn,"_ Coulson said, his tone firmer, drawing her back to the situation at hand. _"Quinn, what is going on in town?"_

She gave her head a little shake and pushed her dark brown hair out of her face; the wind was picking up and tearing it from the braid she'd put it in earlier. "Like I said, I think it's after Thor. The other Asgardians—the ones Cale called Jackie Chan and Xena and Robin Hood—they tried to stop it, but it didn't go well. Right now," Quinn looked over the wall again, "Thor is talking to it." She strained her ears, trying to catch any of the words. "It sounds like he's talking to someone else, through this thing."

" _Can you make out any details?"_

"Uhm… something about his life, and—"

Quinn might have made out more, but the giant began to turn, like it would walk away from Thor. Then it spun back around, it's hand striking Thor and sending him flying.

Quinn heard the crack from her position on the roof.

"Boss," she breathed. "Boss, I think it just… killed Thor."

" _What?"_

Jane's distraught scream brought tears to Quinn's eyes, though they didn't fall. The young woman broke free of Dr. Selvig's hold on her and ran for the fallen Asgardian, throwing herself to the ground, hands gently cupping Thor's face; Quinn didn't need to be able to hear to know Jane was trying to get Thor to wake up, to open his eyes.

The giant's metal form creaked as it turned and started walking back through its path of destruction, heading for the spot where it had landed. It felt as if everything had slowed, the smoke and fire flickering in the wind, the steps the giant took, the buzz of static in Quinn's ear. Everything moved at a snail's pace as Quinn's brain tried to process what she'd just seen. Then the air seemed to electrify. There was a shudder.

" _Quinn, the readings on the hammer just spiked."_

Quinn's head snapped back to where Thor lay still on the ground. What else could possibly happen?

Coulson answered that question at the same time she felt a dull thud: Mjolnir had broken free of its earthy prison and shot straight into the air. Quinn's tawny eyes found the small black speck in the sky, a white trail following it as it climbed, higher and higher, and then it shot forward, the air trembling with its speed.

It tilted down, headed for Thor.

Dr. Selvig pulled Jane out of the way.

Thor's hand shot into the air, fingers wrapping around Mjolnir's handle.

There was the sound of air tearing as the giant sensed its target come back from the brink, a sound louder than anything Quinn had heard in her life. The building next to where she stood crumbled into a pile of dust and smoke and fire. Quinn jumped, pulled from the trance of watching a god emerge on the street before her—there he stood, armour shining, cape fluttering in the wind, lightning bouncing from the hammer to his skin to the ground.

As Thor engaged the giant once more, in battle rather than conversation, Quinn ran from the roof, forgetting much of her equipment in the move for safety; after watching the building next to her go down, the roof no longer felt like a safe place, like a place she'd be missed in the carnage. She would get onto the street and run back toward Jane's lab, as fast as she could, and she would hope that battling a Thor at full power would keep her off the giant's radar. It should. It had shown no real interest in the civilians before, just in destruction.

_Stop thinking about it Quinn, and just move._

"I'm going to try to get back to base, Boss," she said into her mic as she moved down the steps.

" _You might want to stay put, actually."_

"Why?" Quinn asked as she started down the next flight of steps, the ones that would lead her to the ground.

But she never heard Coulson's reply.

The sound of the air tearing filled her ears again, but this time wood and metal and stone tore with it. The abandoned building shook around her, knocking her off balance, forcing her to slow lest she fall.

Then she was falling, but she hadn't fallen down the steps.

Quinn was falling through the air.

The fall lasted forever. Quinn watched the orange-gold beam cut through the air beside her, its heat radiating across her, illuminating the chunks of building falling around her.

She had enough time to figure out that the giant's beam had cut through the building on an angle, missing her but tearing apart the structure below her. She had enough time to be scared. Enough time to wonder if she'd survive.

And then she hit the ground.

* * *

Darkness.

And pain.

The world was fuzzy.

There was a lot going on.

Lightning. Wind. Screams.

But Quinn's world was overwhelmed by pain.

Though it didn't hurt as much as it probably should.

That was bad, right?

She tried to look around and found she couldn't move much. Her body was twisted: hips facing left, shoulders nearly flat on the ground. Her upper body responded painfully to her will to move, but as the world began to clear, she realized there was something on her left leg, pinning it to the ground. She was covered in dust and small chunks of building, her throat coated and breath scraping.

Quinn tried to raise her head farther, and get a better sense of her situation, but as soon as it left the ground everything spun.

Darkness closed in.

* * *

When she came to again, she had to fight to get her eyes open, and even when she did the world was lopsided. It was also darker than it had been. Was it night? How long had she been lying there?

She tried to move again, but the black at the edge of her vision crept closer with every exertion. So Quinn lay there and concentrated on breathing, which was more difficult than it should have been. But Quinn knew the feeling that pierced the fog every time she inhaled: she had broken ribs. It wasn't a good discovery, but it was something real to cling to. Quinn used the pain to try and stay conscious longer, breathing deeply whenever she saw, felt, the darkness creeping in, let the stabbing in her side bring her back.

She had to figure out what time it was, what was going on.

Had Thor beat the giant?

Had the giant levelled the town?

Was anyone looking for her?

Quinn braced her hands against the ground and tried to lever herself out. The rubble on her leg dug in and she screamed, a strangled cry that barely made it past her lips. Her body exploded with the pain, every nerve firing.

She fell back down, chest heaving with every stabbing breath.

The pain couldn't keep the darkness at bay this time.

* * *

The next time Quinn was able to open her eyes, it was like she was looking through a tunnel. The sky above her was cloudy here she could see it through a small gap. Something that might have been thunder rumbled in the distance. She was cold and numb, not even the pain from her ribs was enough to bring her all the way back to consciousness though she was near to gasping for breath.

She tried to move again, but her brain seemed disconnected. She was losing whatever grip she still had and she was sure that the next time she passed out would be the last.

Her eyelids were so heavy.

Sleep sounded so good.

Why was she so intent on staying awake?

Her eyelids fluttered, but she forced them open.

Coulson would be looking for her.

She had to stay awake.

But she was comfortable, wasn't she?

She didn't hurt anymore.

It would so easy to close her eyes and fall asleep.

She'd wake up when Coulson found her.

Quinn let her eyelids drop and it felt so, so good.

But then something shifted somewhere to her left. Stone and wood grated against each other and Quinn knew someone was sifting through the remains of the building. Someone was looking for her.

She forced herself to blink a few times, trying to bring some wakefulness back to her being. She tried to call out, but her throat was dry and the words scraped out, croaking out of existence before there was any real sound. Quinn swallowed what felt like stones, trying to work some salvia into her mouth so she could call out, so whoever was looking could find her.

"Quinn!"

The voice sounded very far away, but it was Clint.

"Here!" The word was barely a whisper. "Here!" A little louder this time.

"Quinn!"

She groaned as she tried to move, to get herself into a better position to call out. The numbness receded in the pain brought on by the motion, but she kept pushing, suddenly driven by the desire to see Clint, to get out from under the rubble. The darkness closed in as she struggled, but she kept pushing.

"I'm here!"

There was some scrambling and Clint called for someone else, probably Coulson. Quinn tried to hold on, but she could feel herself slipping. Her head hit the ground, but she was still mumbling "here" over and over, hoping it would be enough, hoping Clint had heard her feeble cries. There wasn't much rubble. They would find her.

"Quinn!"

Someone skidded across the ground beside her, but she couldn't see who it was. Everything was grey, indistinct. There were hands on her body. Someone calling her name. But Quinn was slipping away, all the remaining fight leeching from her bones.

Still mumbling, she slipped into the blackness.

The last thing she thought she saw was Coulson.


	9. Chapter 9

_June 2nd, 2011  
_ _Puente Antiguo, New Mexico_

The town was wrecked.

There was hardly anything left of the idyllic main street of the desert town aside from smoking rubble and a few still-burning fires. Agents Phil Coulson and Clint Barton stood at the end of the street, eyes wide behind their sunglasses as they surveyed the damage the otherworldly giant had done. The townspeople who had fled were slowly starting to return, picking their way through the remains of their homes and shops, staring in horror at what their town had been turned into. And they were looking to the agents in suits for answers.

Answers none of them had.

Thankfully, they were trained in crowd pacification, and it took Coulson no time at all to get reinforcements from the base to help clean and sort and tend to the minor injuries. Townspeople had already organized to get the fires put out, and Coulson could hear someone planning out places for those with no home to stay. No one was hurt too bad from the look of things; the Asgardians had managed to get the population to safety and all the injuries Coulson had seen were from small pieces of flying debris. But everyone was remaining calm, everyone was helping, and an odd sense of contentment had settled over Puente Antiguo in conjunction with the shock and lingering fear.

All in all, everything was progressing as smoothly as one could hope.

Coulson's phone rang, startling the otherwise stoic agent.

" _What's the situation?"_ Director Fury asked as soon as Coulson had hit accept.

Unsure how to relay the information, Coulson pressed his lips together for a heartbeat and said a silent prayer to whoever was listening that some of their surveillance equipment had captured the titanic battle. "Puente Antiguo has nearly been levelled, sir. I haven't had time to review the equipment, but hopefully we caught it."

There was silence on the other end of the line. Not a good sign. _"The object?"_

Phil Coulson took a deep, slow breath. "Turns out it _was_ Mjolnir, the hammer belonging to Thor, the Norse god of thunder."

More silence. _"Did you inform him of the Initiative?"_

"I did. Before he… teleported back to Asgard. He's on board, sir, as long as we fight to protect Earth. He didn't say when he'd be back, but apparently he was returning home to stop a greater threat."

Fury made a noise somewhere a grunt and a laugh. Or maybe it was a scoff. _"Greater than whatever levelled a small town?"_

" _Most_ of the town, sir."

" _Most of the town then—a bigger threat than that?"_ Coulson could almost see his boss shaking his head in disbelief and he knew better than to speak. Fury wouldn't be done talking yet. _"I want very detailed reports and whatever footage you have of Thor. This is more than I was expecting to come out of an 0-8-4 in the middle of the desert."_ Fury sighed, a harsh expulsion of air. _"Is this bigger threat anything we have to worry about?"_

"I don't think so, sir." Coulson amended his statement almost immediately, remembering the look on Thor's face when he'd spoken of this other threat. "At least, not yet. I wouldn't discount future problems, but I don't think Thor will let anything attack Earth with retaliation."

" _Nice to know we have a guardian,"_ Fury quipped.

Coulson made a vague noise of agreement. "I'm also bringing Dr. Jane Foster in to continue studying the astronomical data she was gathering here. I have a feeling it might be a good thing to have a leg up on that, especially if—"

" _We might have to deal with more of these Asgardians."_ Fury huffed again, and Coulson knew he would have run his hand over his head. While he was an excellent director, Nick Fury missed being in the field much of the time, and it was when something like the incident at Puente Antiguo happened that he missed it most of all; Agent Coulson could hear it in his voice. _"Good call, Coulson. Leave a team there to help clean up and get everyone sorted, and then get back to New York so we can over the details with the Council. They'll be breathing down my neck as soon as they hear even a damn whisper about this whole thing."_

"Yes sir."

Fury didn't bother to say goodbye, just hung up. Coulson tucked his phone back into the pocket of his suit jacket and once again turned his attention to the city around him. All of the fires he could see were out, except for the gas station fire, and even that was almost quenched. A massive grill had been wheeled out and what looked like the staff of the diner had assembled to cook burgers and hot dogs for everyone who was helping to clean up. Another group had taken the children to one side to keep them occupied and safe.

Clint however, wasn't noticing the miracle of humans taking care of one another. He had wandered off to one side, his phone pressed to his ear, and he'd removed his sunglasses to reveal a face screwed up in concern and maybe a hint of anger.

"Agent Barton?"

He looked up at his boss, movements short and jerky. "Boss, I can't get a hold of Quinn."

Coulson felt a chill run through him.

Agent Scott's communications had cut off during the battle—he'd heard the blast from what they'd come to call the Destroyer—and he hadn't heard from her since. Barton had been trying to get her on the line since they'd arrived in Puente Antiguo. The Destroyer's presence could have messed with the cell signal, or maybe her phone and radio were broken. Agents Cale and Garrett hadn't reported in either, but some of the townspeople had reported seeing the SHIELD agents at the other end of the street.

But if Barton couldn't get a hold of Quinn…

With all other distractions temporarily settled, Coulson's mind immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion: Quinn was lying somewhere dead, taken out by the Destroyer.

He was moving before he knew it, practically running down the street to her last reported location. Clint was hot on his heels.

"Shouldn't have just assumed she'd be fine," he muttered.

"Boss—"

Coulson waved away the coming words, knowing that Barton was going to attempt to reassure him. It had been a stupid move to assume Quinn would be all right. She was strong and capable. Yes, she could lose herself when she was fascinated and enthusiastic, but she wasn't stupid. She would have gotten out of the way. She would have gotten somewhere safe if she saw the attack coming.

But what if she hadn't seen it?

Coulson and Clint reached the end of the street. They were facing the building that had once held Dr. Foster's lab, and to their right…

To their right, was the building where Quinn had been stationed, and it was lying in ruins.

There was a fire still burning along the path of the Destroyer's attack, smoke filling the air. Agents Coulson and Barton got as close as they could, peering through the obstructions, trying to spot Agent Scott. As he was wont to do, Barton sought the high ground and climbed atop the highest piece of rubble nearby, hoping for a better vantage point. Coulson gave himself a shake. Above them, dark clouds were gathering and thunder was rumbling in the distance—a storm was coming and Coulson hoped for rain to help quench the fire.

He opened his mouth to call for those fighting the fires to help put out the one he was facing, but the civilians of Puente Antiguo were already coming up the street, drawn by the commotion Clint was creating as he called out for his friend.

"QUINN!"

He was screaming now as water hissed into steam over the flames and Coulson was listening intently for any response.

There was nothing.

"Quinn!" he yelled, adding his voice to Barton's. "Quinn!"

Still nothing.

Clint hopped down from the rubble and jogged to Coulson's side. "Boss, the fire is only blocking this side. I'm going around to the back of the building to see if I can get farther in, maybe hear her or see her or… something." The archer shook his head and ran a hand back through his sandy brown hair. "You should stay on this side and help the civilians. I'll yell if I find anything."

The senior agent wanted to argue, but he could see the wisdom in Clint's suggestion. He nodded. "Good idea," he managed.

* * *

Clint jogged around the remains of the building, holding his breath when he passed through the smoke. The wind was blowing the smoke in his direction, obscuring the rubble, but Clint was determined, and the smoke was lessening as the firefighters battled the flames. After a few metres of clambering over stone and wood and tile and who knew what else, Clint found himself at a clear patch in the centre of the former building.

"Quinn?" he called. He heard some shifting to his left. "Quinn?" Clint narrowed his eyes, peering through the smoke. More rubble shifted, stone and wood sliding to the ground. A faint groan reached Clint's ears. "Quinn!" He jumped down from his perch and picked his way carefully to the source of the shifting rubble.

Quinn wasn't there.

Clint cursed and returned to an elevated position, the panic he'd been trying hard to keep contained starting to break through. Quinn and he had become friends fast—much faster than he would have expected after meeting the somewhat snarky and rather energetic new agent. He'd already been part of Coulson's team when she'd been assigned and the three of them had come to feel like a kind of family. Quinn couldn't be…

 _No,_ he sternly told himself as he searched the debris for any sign of life. _Don't think like that. She's alive._

"Quinn!" he called again, not liking the way his voice cracked.

There was a faint noise. It might have been a voice. Clint scrambled closer, ignoring a fresh plume of smoke. It stung his eyes, but he kept them open.

"Quinn!"

"Here…"

It was faint, but it was a voice. It was her.

"Quinn!" He leapt over the bank of rubble in front of him, narrowly avoiding a jagged piece of metal sticking out of the stone. His sharp eyes found her almost immediately.

"I'm here!"

Clint dropped to his knees beside her, hands hovering above as if he was afraid to touch her. Which he might have been—he wasn't sure. Quinn was pinned beneath some rubble, a big piece lying across her left leg, pinning it to the ground. The dirt beneath her was soaked in a fair amount of blood and what he could see of his friend was battered and cut and bruised, but she was awake. She was breathing—shallowly, but she was breathing—and her tawny eyes were open and at least half alert. She was looking at Clint like he was the best thing she'd ever seen, and trapped as she was, he might have been just that.

He tried to asses her injuries as he'd been taught, but he couldn't see enough of her to get a concrete idea. Her pinned leg was probably broken, and her left arm was pinned behind her back awkwardly. It was probably broken too. Her shoulder was definitely dislocated. There was a slight hitch in her breathing that spoke to bruised or cracked ribs, and there was a nasty cut above her right eye that worried him. And there was no way to know what was going on internally. Was she bleeding? Was she dying? Would she survive them lifting the pieces of the building off of her?

"Quinn," he said, finally settling on placing a hand gently on her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered closed, her fight to be found over. "Just hold on a little longer, Quinn. Just a bit longer."

She muttered something, but Clint didn't spend a whole lot of time trying to decipher exactly what it was. He engaged his communicator instead.

"Boss, I've found her." His voice cracked again. Coulson's sighed heavily, relieved. "She's in bad shape. Get a medical team in here asap—she's going to need to get a hospital as soon as she can."

" _Stay where you are, Barton. I'm coming to you and I'll get a med team. We'll get her to Puente Antiguo's hospital and then, when we can, we'll airlift her to the SHIELD base in Roswell."_

"Sounds like a good plan," Clint said, knowing that was what Coulson needed to hear. His eyes fell back to Quinn. "Just hurry." The call ended and he placed his hand back on Quinn's shoulder, the contact enough to make her open her eyes, though it was clearly a struggle. "Quinn, try to stay awake."

"It's hard… I'm so… so tired."

"Are you in any pain?"

"Only when I try to move." She tried to smile, but the expression fell short. Her eyes jumped to the sound of shifting stone as Coulson appeared. She did smile then, just for a second. "Hey Boss."

Coulson dropped to his knees beside Clint, heedless of his suit getting ruined in the dirt and grime. Like Clint, he raised his hands like he'd touch Quinn, maybe brush her hair back from her face, maybe squeeze her shoulder, but he too didn't know where to touch her that wouldn't cause more pain. There were tears in his eyes, which alarmed Clint. Quinn's eyes closed again, but she reached out a bloody hand to him, her breathing evening out when Coulson took it.


	10. Chapter 10

She was back in that icy wasteland, walking through the endless darkness trying to find… She still didn't know what she was looking for, but the urge to find it, the need to find it, burned hot within her. Quinn surged ahead, but her progress was so much slower than last time; something was pulling her back. She looked behind her, ready to fight, but it was just her leg. It hung limp and useless behind her, creating a deep trench in the snow. Quinn stopped walking to stare at it, to wonder how it had happened.

As the memories came back—the building, the giant metal man, the beam of red and orange that tore through everything in its path—the rest of her body started to hurt. A deep hurt, an ache that thrummed through her core. Her left arm fell against her side, as useless as her leg, and she could feel blood running from cuts as they opened across her skin. A strangled cry emanated from her lips.

The ground opened up beneath her and once more, she was in that cavernous space again, the wind echoing around her. She landed in a pile of snow, the white flakes puffing out around her in cloud. Quinn lay there for a few moments, until the urge to keep looking became too much. She had to find whatever it was. She needed to find what was at the end of that dark tunnel, what the shadows were hiding, but when she tried to get up, she couldn't.

She fought with all she had to stand, to get up out of that snow, to keep looking. Her body betrayed her though, and she was left there, the snow melting and soaking through her clothes.

For the first time in a long time, Quinn let herself cry.

* * *

_June 4th, 2011  
_ _Puente Antiguo, New Mexico_

When Quinn awoke, the first thing she noticed were the tears on her cheeks. She wiped them away with her right hand—the only one she could move.

The second thing she noticed was that she was largely immobile.

Her left arm was in a cast and bound tightly to her body. There was a dull ache in her shoulder that told her it had been dislocated, but she had no way of telling how bad the break was. Her left leg was also wrapped, with metal pins and screws sticking out between the cloth. That leg was elevated and even through what she recognized as a painkiller haze, she could feel it hurting, and it hurt a lot. What she could see of the rest of her body was stitched and bandaged and scraped. Her head hurt—everything hurt.

But the most alarming thing was that she couldn't move anything below her waist.

Quinn dropped her head back against the pillows, stared at the off-white ceiling. She didn't want to cry, but her eyes were burning again and the drugs in her system had taken away much of her self-control. The tears started falling just as the door opened, admitting Phil Coulson, Clint Barton, and a man in a white coat who could only have been a doctor. She didn't even bother trying to hide her tears.

Coulson approached her first, his face unreadable. Quinn did wipe at her face then, but the tears kept coming. Coulson took her hand and squeezed, but that only made her cry harder. "Boss," she managed. "I can't… I can't move my legs."

He climbed onto the bed beside Quinn and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her to him. She pressed her face into his shoulder and cried, actually sobbed, regardless of how much it hurt. Clint appeared on her other side, one hand gently stroking her back, a comforting presence. Quinn just let herself unravel and wondered how much of it was because of the pain and the drugs and how much had just built up over the years of keeping herself tightly controlled.

Someone must have said something to the doctor, since he cleared his throat and started speaking.

"You will be able to move your legs again," he said. "But your lower spine and tailbone were severely bruised in your fall. The swelling is what's preventing your mobility. When that goes down, you will be able to move, but it's hard to tell how long that will take." The doctor approached the foot of the bed. He had a kind face and when he smiled, Quinn believed it was genuine. He flipped a page over in the chart he was holding. "I want you to keep trying to wiggle the toes on your good foot though. Keep trying to move, okay?" When Quinn managed a nod—she'd calmed a little as he spoke; he had a soothing voice—the doctor continued. "Your left arm was dislocated at the shoulder and your arm was fractured in two places, and you suffered a minor concussion in addition to the various cuts and bruises."

Silence held as Quinn tried to absorb all the information the doctor was giving her. She vaguely remembered a doctor doing a neurological exam and someone keeping her awake when she first got the hospital. They'd wanted to be sure she was okay for surgery. Coulson and Clint never let go of her and the tears never stopped as she processed the information. They slid silently down her cheeks and she no longer cared to try to stop them.

"There was a little internal bleeding when you came in, but that resolved on its own. We've been monitoring the area though, in case the bleeding restarts. You've also got a few bruised ribs, but none of them are cracked or broken."

"And my leg?" she managed to ask.

"I'm afraid it was nearly shattered." The doctor sighed, a small and sympathetic smile darting across his lips. "We performed surgery shortly after you arrived and managed to get your leg mostly in order. You will need several more surgeries, but as I understand it, you will be receiving those at another hospital."

"Do you think I'll be able to use it again?"

"With the proper surgeries and physical therapy, yes, though I don't think it'll ever be back to one-hundred percent."

Quinn sighed, a shaky sigh, and sunk farther into Coulson's shoulder. The tears were still falling, her brain was spinning, and there was still that painkiller fog. The conversation continued around her, but she stopped paying attention. She closed her eyes and dozed until Clint nudged her back to the waking world. When she opened her eyes again, it was just her, Coulson, and Clint. The doctor was gone, her chart hanging at the end of the bed. She was also lying on her back, the men standing near the window.

"Are we going to Roswell?" she asked. Her voice didn't sound like hers. It was hollow and almost listless.

"The helicopter is on its way now," Coulson said, stepping up to the side of the bed and placing a hand on her arm. "The doctors here weren't too happy about us transporting you, but they okayed it as long as we're careful, mostly with your leg. I imagine once we get to Roswell, they'll whisk you into surgery immediately. I've already had the doctors send your chart, scans, and x-rays, and our doctors think you'll be able to make a close-to-full recovery if they act quickly."

Quinn just nodded. She heard Coulson and Clint both sigh, but she didn't say anything. She wanted to be happy to hear that she'd recover, but there was a darkness clouding her mind and heart and all she wanted to do was lay in bed and hurt. Maybe sleep some more.

"Hey Scottie, cheer up," Clint said. "You know the doctors at Roswell will take good care of you and you'll be back on your feet in no time. That base has one of the best medical teams in SHIELD."

Quinn nodded, but said nothing.

It took only a few minutes of silence before Coulson said, "We'll leave you to sleep for a bit while we check on the helicopter and get everything ready for transport."

"Okay."

She heard them chatting quietly as they left the room, but as soon as she was alone, Quinn closed her eyes and let the fog and pain and darkness pull her back to sleep. Thankfully, this time, it was dreamless.

* * *

It was the whirring of the helicopter blades that woke Quinn next. She was strapped to a gurney inside a large SHIELD chopper, Coulson and Clint on one side, and three more agents on the other. She only recognized one of them, but that was enough to distract her from the disagreeable feeling of being tied down. She had never liked being tied up.

"Hey there," Natasha Romanoff said, a smirk pulling at one side of her lips. Her red hair was pulled back from her face and she was dressed in civilian clothing—a blue button down shirt, black pencil skirt, and heels—rather than her Black Widow bodysuit and utility belt. "Looks like you got yourself into a bit of trouble there, Scottie."

Quinn actually smiled, though everything was still twisted and dark inside. "Maybe a little bit."

"Well don't worry. We'll be on the ground in Roswell in fifteen minutes. The doctors are prepped and waiting to take you into surgery and sort out this mess," she said with a broad gesture that encompassed Quinn's entire five foot four frame. "We'll get you back on your feet and we'll all be here when you wake up."

It was so close to what Clint had said earlier that Quinn smiled again, a bigger grin; it never ceased to amaze her how in synch the two assassins were, no matter how far apart they were or how long it had been since they'd seen each other. "That remains to be seen. I'm pretty sure I'll be stuck on a desk for the rest of my life. Maybe stuck in a wheelchair." She huffed, the dark things swelling inside, clouding her thoughts and what had started out as a joke. Again, all she wanted to do was sleep and ignore the bleak prospects of her future. "What I did, staying on that building, that was stupid. A giant mistake."

"Hey," all three of Quinn's friends chided at once.

"Don't talk like that," Natasha said sternly. "We all make mistakes and we all get injured." Natasha, not possessing any of timidity or hesitation when it came to touching Quinn, brushed her dark brown hair back from her face, smoothing it down. "How many times have you been in the hospital to see me or Clint? Or Tripp? Ward? Any of us. We've all been in this position before and we will be there again."

"We know exactly how you feel," Clint chimed in, voice backed with confidence that hadn't been there before. He probably felt better dealing with the whole situation with Natasha there, and now that the shock at seeing a friend crushed by a building had cleared. "You're not going to go through this alone."

Coulson's hand closed around her good ankle, since he was closer to that end of her gurney. "I'll—we'll—do whatever we can to get you back to one-hundred percent, Quinn."

"I know, Boss." Quinn turned another smile to Coulson, but the effort of lifting her head to look down at him was exhausted and she slumped back against the pillows. "I know," she said again, voice drifting slightly as she closed her eyes.

Natasha continued to stroke Quinn's hair, knowing the injured woman found that comforting. The women were the same age, and though they hadn't gone through training together—not by a long shot, since Natasha had been raised in the mysterious and terrifying Red Room and had been in training since she was about five—but they had bonded quickly and trusted each other implicitly. Quinn leaned into Natasha's touch. The agents resumed their conversation in low tones. Quinn tried not to think about what was waiting for her in Roswell, but that proved difficult when the helicopter began its descent.

She reached out with her good arm and took the first hand she met—Coulson's. Quinn opened her eyes as the helicopter landed, but she didn't let go of Coulson's hand, not even as they wheeled her gurney out onto the tarmac and into the high-tech and sterile halls of the SHIELD hospital. Surgery itself didn't really scare her. She trusted surgeons to do their jobs, especially if they'd been hired to work in a SHIELD hospital, but the prospect of losing the use of one, or maybe both, of her legs was too much to handle. It was almost too much to think about, especially with her brain turning everything dark.

"We need to take you into surgery right away," one of the doctors said as he noticed the clasped hands.

"Just give me a minute, please," she said, squeezing Coulson's hand.

The doctor nodded, but he didn't look happy about it.

Coulson returned the squeeze and stepped closer to the stretcher. "You're going to be fine, Quinn." He looked over his shoulder at Clint and Natasha, who were standing a respectful way back with small smiles on their face. "And we'll all be here when you wake up, okay? None of us are going to leave. Fury knows what happened."

"Oh great—"

"He's worried about you too, Quinn."

"But—"

"Quinn."

It was the tone in his voice—part father, part boss—that made Quinn shut her mouth. She narrowed her eyes and tried not to follow the line of thought that said if Fury knew how badly she was injured, she was going to lose her job. She was going to lose SHIELD—

"Quinn."

She forced her eyes back to Coulson's face and he gave her that small smile, the one that had made her trust him all those years ago when he'd come to her in the park and offered her this life. "You'll be here when I come out? If I come out?"

"You will," he said sternly. "You will be fine."

Quinn nodded and Coulson ruffled her hair gently. He nodded to the doctors, who were standing a short distance away and they came to take hold of her stretcher once more. As they wheeled her past the doors marking the end of the part of the building where civilians were allowed, Quinn's eyes never left Coulson's face. Clint and Natasha appeared to either side of Coulson. Quinn closed her eyes and sunk back onto her pillows, thinking only of seeing their faces again when she woke up.


End file.
